


A Change is Gonna Come - Part Five: Meet on the Ledge

by Emi_theSassiestSousa



Series: A Change is Gonna Come [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Antagonist Ketch, Aromantic Character, Bisexual Characters, But also, Character Drama, Demiromantic Character, Depression, Dissociation, F/M, Familial Love, Feelings Realizations, Fluff and Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Character, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mood Swings, Mytharc, Nice Things:, Past Sex Worker, Platonic Love, Self-Hatred, Self-Medication, Self-Worth Realizations, Story Tags:, Suicidal Thoughts, Token Straight Character, and finally: I Swear This Series is a Romance not a Tragedy, brief pregnancy scare, coexisting side-by-side, if I thought there was too much music in Part Four boy howdy am I in for a shock, love and support, lying, non-binary character(s), opiate abuse, so many problematic actions, some non-linear narrative, the Author totally ships Sabriel but this is not a Sabriel fic, this fic is four fics in a trenchcoat trying to buy a movie ticket, this is going to hurt, unintentional gaslighting, warning tags:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-09 19:18:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 99,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16455785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emi_theSassiestSousa/pseuds/Emi_theSassiestSousa
Summary: The days after Dean left were extreme.Not extreme in the way the previous twenty-four hours had been, but extreme in their variance, or more specifically, the variance in the occupants of the bunker.--While one resident angel was getting better by the day, it didn’t escape the notice of the current bunker occupants that the other... wasn’t.--“I’ve got something eating people in my river, and a little bird with an attitude problem told me that you guys are the new resident experts on water monsters.”--When they got back from Chicago, you could almost say things went back to normal.--Today was a good day.(Until it wasn't.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Apologies for any confusion, Part One used to be called Meet on the Ledge but was previously changed to Highway Tune. Fun with a WIP!**
> 
> Hello, my friends, long time no see! Thank you so much for your patience in waiting for this, I hope the result is up to par and worth the wait!
> 
> Important note before you start: this goes dark. I don’t want to overplay nor undersell, but we’re dealing with suicidal ideation, depression, PTSD, phobias, self-deprecation, drug abuse, and more. Now I promise there’s good stuff too, happy stuff even, but I wanna get this trigger warning up front-and-center, so check them tags!
> 
> Quick note on music: I've been tightening up when I use a music link versus when I type out lyrics in text. So you'll notice there are A LOT of songs in this Part, but not that many more music links. Feel free to tell me whether or not you like it, whether Spotify works well for this, if I missed a link when I switched everything over from Pandora, etc.
> 
> Also a quick reminder that this series is an alternate ending of sorts for Season 13, and that means there’s a Season Finale. So that’s what this is, the last four “episodes” leading up to a big finale, so consider this the Emotional Hurt and Angst warning right here. :) 
> 
> Also also, I need to give a full Editing Credit to UnfortunatelyObsessed, @crack--attack on tumblr. <3 <3
> 
> Alright, everyone ready for this? Great! Then buckle up and here we go! I hereby finally give you Part Five of this six-part plot arc: A Change is Gonna Come - Meet on the Ledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A Change is Gonna Come - Lyrics Excerpt}
> 
> _...It's been a long (it's been a long, long)_   
>  _Long time comin’,_   
>  _And I know,_   
>  _Change is gonna come,_   
>  _Oh, yes it will_
> 
> _Well, it's been a long, (said it's been a long, long)_  
>  _Long time comin',_  
>  _And I know,_  
>  _Change is gonna come, change, (change)_  
>  _I know, I know, I know, I know, I know,_  
>  _Change, change is gonna come,_  
>  _Whoah_

 

_The sky is rent, warped, torn. The plan had worked. Everything had worked just as it was supposed to. And he wishes it hadn't. He prays to an absent father for forgiveness for his arrogance._

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

The days after Dean left were extreme.

Not extreme in the way the previous twenty-four hours had been, but extreme in their variance, or more specifically, the variance in the occupants of the bunker.

Gabriel improved rapidly, cracking jokes by the second day and flitting room to room purely to spook people by the fourth— though his pranks ended up primarily aimed at Sam. Direl hardly seemed to care, and the first and last time he tried to scare Bris he was soundly educated in some of the choicest curses her native tongue had to offer. 

Then, near the end of that fourth day, while Sam, Bris, and Direl were sitting quietly in the library, Gabriel came to them with a question:

“So…” he began with uncharacteristic caution, “what the heck happened while I was gone?”

It took hours for Sam to go through it all. His small audience of two selkies and an angel listened with rapt attention as he tried, and failed, to slog through a _concise_ version of the events of the past eight years. From the Apocalypse all the way to now, in a story full of tangents and backtracks, diversions and questions, Sam did his best to fill them in on everything he could.

When he reached the end, though, Gabriel had only one concern:

“I’m… I’m an uncle?” he asked from his perch, sitting on the library table above the other three in their chairs.

“Yeah,” Sam smiled.

“But he’s…”

“In another dimension. Yeah.”

“And you need…?”

“Some of your grace for the spell. Eventually!” Sam held up his palms. “We know you need to recover.”

Gabriel glared out at the floor. His arm flexed with a fist.

“And there’s… Well, there’s more to it,” Sam continued.

Gabriel looked up. “More to the spell?”

“More to the rift. It’s just that— See, when… Lucifer came back, he was going on about Michael. _Their_ Michael. Said he was planning to come over here somehow. He shouldn’t be able to but… well, Cas wants us to gear up for a full-out war. I’ve been making some preparations just in case, calling up old friends...” Sam trailed off at the look on Gabriel’s face.

Gabriel’s lip curled. “Another— _Another_ Angel War?”

“I guess it could be,” Sam lamented. “And I know it’s not your thing, but we really only need this one favor from you so we can get Mom and Jack back before anything can happen, and then you don’t have to be involved at all. Just this one thing, that’s it.”

Gabriel’s face darkened further, “Oh, just one thing?” he snapped. “One tiny little thing in repayment for—”

“No,” Sam said firmly. “Don’t ever think that, Gabriel, there's nothing to repay. You were rescued because you needed to get out of there, because you never should have been there in the first place. If we had known, we would have rescued you years ago, spell or no spell. _Nobody_ deserves what happened to you.”

Gabriel searched Sam’s face, found it nothing but earnest and open, and his anger quickly ebbed away. He sighed, his shoulders folding forward. “You’re a good kid, you know that?”

“Here, here,” said Bris. She and Direl raised their drinks, clinking their glasses together without looking and downing a swig. Sam couldn’t help a smile, averting his eyes and ducking his head a fraction.

Gabriel, however, was back to looking at the floor. “But I do... appreciate you, ya know, helping me. So if you, ya know, have a… something you needed besides that… I could maybe swing something.”

Sam watched Gabriel, knitted his brow as he seemed to choose his next words carefully. “Well, I _was_ talking with Cas the other day… But it’s kind of a big thing. With what Lucifer was saying, and Cas being all worked up about it... But we know you might not be up for it yet…”

Sam's tripping unease seemed to light Gabriel's spark again, sending his eyebrows dancing above a mischievous grin. “Well now you _have_ to tell me, you've got me all curious!”

Sam huffed into a half-smile and reached into his back pocket to pull out a piece of notebook paper. “Well see, we were hoping you could maybe… bring some people back?”

The dance ceased. “What.”

“Bring some people back. From the dead,” Sam said as he handed over the paper. “We were kinda thinking, you know, this might be an all-hands-on-deck situation coming up.”

Gabriel took it slowly and read the list, one eyebrow creeping up as he went. Bris leaned in to read over his shoulder, got about halfway down, and frowned.

Gabriel looked up to meet Sam’s gaze over the paper. “Okay, first of all: No. And second, like half these people aren’t even dead.”

“What?” Sam and Direl bolted straight up and tried to get a look at the paper.

“Yeah, these two are in Fairy Land, this one just stopped returning your calls—”

“Holy shit, who? Who’s still alive?” Sam asked.

“Oh, no-no-no,” Gabriel clutched the paper to his chest, “I’m not telling you that. That’s exactly the kind of baloney that gets all the movers and shakers upstairs tied in knots.”

“The movers and shakers?”

“Yeah, you know, _Death_ , and the _Fates,_ and— Oh boy, maybe I can get Father Time to show up!”

“Father Ti—?” Sam dropped his chin and glared at Gabriel. “You’re fucking with me, aren't you?”

Gabriel beamed and threw his arms wide, “It’s the _foundation_ of our _relationship_ , Samshine! Can ya really blame me?” and with a brazen wink and the rush of wings, he popped out of sight.

A moment later they could hear someone whistling _“You Are My Sunshine”_ in the kitchen.

Sam just sighed into his hand, dragging it over his face. He slapped his thighs and stood to retrieve his book on ancient Biblical lore from the table. “Well, I guess it was worth a shot,” he said as Direl left, mumbling something about _absolute poxes._

Bris returned to her latest instructive material on ghosts with a tight frown, “Aye…” she said with a matching tone, “s’pose it was.”

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

While one resident angel was getting better by the day, it didn’t escape the notice of the other bunker occupants that the other... wasn’t.

With Gabriel’s help through that first tenuous night after Hell, Cas had woken somewhere around midnight, groggy and uncoordinated, but at least conscious. 

As soon as he was stable, though, it was almost like he wasn’t there at all. He wouldn’t join them for movies, or reading, or at meals like he used to. Mostly he stayed behind the closed door of Dean’s room, saying he needed to rest his body and recover his own grace.

Though even when he _could_ be coaxed to join them, things weren’t much better. He just sat there, staring at nothing, or at his hands, shrunken into himself and utterly silent. He wouldn’t meet anyone’s eye.

They all did their best to lift his mood, but there was nothing for it. Offers to vent were left on the table, historical trivia was left undiscussed, attempts at pranks were met with blank, vacant looks, and even bottle caps went unread. It truly seemed that no amount of patience or assurances of understanding could rouse him from his melancholy.

Sam thought he knew what the problem might be, but it wasn't confirmed to him until after the sixth day— the day Dean came home.

Sam was heading to his own room when Dean rounded the corner, evidently coming straight from the garage, and in a hurry.

“Dean!” Sam greeted him with a smile, “You’re back! Was the car alri—?”

“Where’s Cas?”

The roughness of Dean's voice caught Sam off guard, “Um—” he fumbled, “he’s probably resting right now. In your room—”

Dean rushed right past him, never breaking his stride, straight to the front end of the hall where his room still sat after its most recent relocation. He barged in without knocking, and slammed the door behind him.

Sam chose— wisely he thought— to simply continue on to his own room.

And his decision seemed to pay off. Whatever happened in there, Cas was markedly different afterwards. That night, he finally came out of Dean’s room for good. He started taking up those previous offers, he joined them in the library and meals again, and he even offered his help around the bunker. Slowly but surely, Cas seemed to be coming back to them, and everyone was delighted for it.

Dean emerged different as well, but Sam had a harder time placing it. He wasn’t sure if it was whatever he'd discussed with Cas, or if the trip to get the car had done its job to calm him down, or if maybe that trip had just… shifted his mood, but over the next week Dean spent a lot of his time looking for odd-job cases. A _lot_ of his time. Basically all of his time. It was odd, sure, but it was helpful, and it kept Dean busy while they waited for Gabriel to be ready to provide his portion of the spell.

And frankly, this was probably the healthiest coping mechanism Sam had ever seen from Dean after one of their Big Events, so he happily gave Dean some breathing space, and in the end, hardly gave it any thought at all.

Of course, Sam couldn’t help but wonder what Dean and Cas might have talked about that night, but even Sam wasn’t so nosy as to pry into that, so he simply allowed himself to be satisfied that they were all back in the bunker again, together under one roof and almost back to normal.

And so the bunker settled into a routine again, of chores and learning and movies and meals, and Sam allowed himself to relax. Things were good for now, things were okay, so he did his best not to look this gift horse in the mouth, and tried to just enjoy it.

One would have thought he’d know better by now.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Six days after Dean had left the bunker, Castiel sat in his place in the chair by the wall.

He glanced at the bed, empty but for a pair of sweatpants draped over the end, waiting for their owner to return.

If he had thought he’d been drained after using his grace to recover Sam’s soul, the state he was in now made that seem laughable. His condition after his assault upon Hell was almost comparable to his period of near-humanity, just as tiring... and just as lonely.

Over the past few days, primarily thanks to Gabriel’s assistance, he had recovered some of his strength. But he still found even the smallest of tasks to be taxing, so he spent the majority of his time simply resting. Or at least, he was _supposed_ to be resting.

His body was, but his mind wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop offering exactly how he had failed everyone so terribly, wouldn’t stop forcing him to face that failure, to stare at it, to dissect down it into the raw bankruptcy of his competence. Around and around he went— or did it spin around him— Castiel picking at it, it jabbing at him, until there was nothing left but the shreds of either before the process would start all over again. It was draining in its own way, it was exhausting, but he didn't know how to stop it.

Not that he would deserve the respite.

The others had tried to help, had tried to soothe him as humans are so often wont to do. But how could he accept their kindness, their attempts to bring him back into their fold after he had… after he had almost…

Even Gabriel had joined their attempts, though he couldn’t be blamed for his momentary short-sightedness. He had been through so much, after all. The first day after Castiel woke up, before he was even told what he had missed after his ejection from Hell, he had _known_ just how affected Gabriel was. It was in his tone, in his posture. He was stiff, his eyes were cold, his speech was short and clipped, and he wouldn’t even open his wings. Not to flaunt them, not to stretch them, not even in surprise. Castiel could see how they twitched with undue apprehension, held so tight against his body, and he ached for the suffering of his older brother.

By only the second day, though, Castiel had found Gabriel trying. He had found him standing in a corner of an empty room, slowly flexing one wing out and then the other, muttering to himself that he _could,_ that he was _allowed,_ that no one but angels or humans were going to enter the bunker. He would push them out, shakily but determinedly, a little further each time, nearly reaching his full span before bringing them back with a snap and starting all over again. And in that stolen moment Castiel had swelled for him, so proud of the pertinacity and the strength of his older brother.

By the fifth day Gabriel was almost back to normal, expressing himself fully with every ruffle and flare. Castiel even caught him draping a wing over Sam in a way that Castiel almost never dared with anyone, comforting him when their conversations turned dark or sour. The way Sam relaxed under the unknown touch tore at Castiel, and he wished he had the courage to bring that kind of peace to him. To either of them. To any of them.

Castiel couldn't. But Gabriel could.

Even in Gabriel’s current state, drained of his own grace, his being positively _sang_ with his Glory. He was so _Good..._ He was every bit the angel that Castiel wasn’t, that Castiel would never be, that Castiel had never been.

 _He_ was worthy to accept everyone’s affections, and to lift their spirits in kind.

But none of that changed that Gabriel hadn’t seen what Castiel had done. Or at least, Castiel hoped that he hadn’t, that he didn’t know the full extent of his shame. But _Castiel_ knew, and so he spurned Gabriel’s attempts at platitude and comfort. He shrank from Gabriel’s touch, both physical and angelic. Because if there was anything he deserved least right now, it was Harmony. 

How could Castiel have been so foolish? Yes, _technically_ their mission had been a success, Gabriel had been rescued, but so much had gone wrong. And all of it was Castiel’s fault. He hadn’t been able to protect any of them, he had almost— How he was still being allowed to stay, how the others could even want to draw him out in the first place, he just couldn’t understand.

He could guess, though. An age ago, when Castiel had last wondered aloud why he had been brought back from the Empty, Dean had told him that they needed him. They needed Castiel around. They needed his help.

But before he could fall down that spiral, something else Dean had said jumped in. Dean had also told him that to everyone, Castiel was worth more than what he could do for them. He had told Castiel that he was wanted, wanted by all of them, and wanted by Dean.

But now Dean was gone. He couldn’t be asked for reassurances. He couldn’t be asked if he had ever meant it at all.

Castiel tried to push that idea from his mind, though. Dean wouldn’t have said that if he hadn't meant it.

Instead, Castiel resigned himself once again to figuring out where everything had gone so wrong. Well— where he had gone wrong _this_ particular time. If he wanted, he could trace his mistakes back millennia, but that had been yesterday’s exercise. Today was for his recent ones.

He was on his seventh iteration of how he could have prevented them from rushing into Hell in the first place when the door burst open— and suddenly he was there.

“Dean!” Castiel leapt from his chair.

The door shut roughly behind him, “Cas, I—”

But Dean stopped. For all the bold determination of his entry, he stalled, seeming to slip a gear from his intended purpose.

But Castiel barely noticed that. After days of waiting and worrying, Dean was finally back, finally _here._ When Castiel recovered from the initial shock, he found himself searching everything he could see on Dean— his hand still pressed against the door, his shoulders tightening, his throat bobbing, his eyes going over Castiel just the same— and his momentary elation deflated. Just as he had feared, Dean was still upset, six whole days after Sam had first told Castiel the state he had left in.

Having had almost a week to imagine exactly how this argument would explode, Castiel braced himself for the worst.

Then Dean finally met his eyes, and said:

“Cas, I’m sorry.”

Castiel blinked.

He hadn’t imagined that.

“What?” he asked in disbelief.

“I’m sorry.”

He waited, but it soon became clear that Dean would require further prompting.

“But— What for?”

“Everything,” he said quickly. Perhaps too quickly, Castiel wasn’t sure where that line fell. Dean continued, his speech coming fast, “I mean, you were right. We shouldn’t have gone in. We shouldn’t have trusted Crowley. I shouldn’t have gone off alone with him—”

“You went off alone with Crowley?” The others hadn’t told him _that._

Dean flinched. “I owed him a favor.”

_“You promised him a favor?”_

Something akin to fear flashed in Dean’s eyes, and Castiel immediately recognized that he had misstepped.

Maybe he had misunderstood what Sam had meant by ‘upset’.

“Dean…” he said, far softer, “why are you apologizing? I’m the one who was mistaken, multiple times over.”

“No— Cas, you tried to stop me and I didn’t listen—”

“And Bris tried to stop _me_ and I— I almost killed you.”

Dean withdrew the hand he had reached out. He didn't respond.

So Castiel tried again. “Why are you apologizing, Dean?”

“Because I br—” he sharply stopped himself. The curl in his lip dropped. “Because I fucked up.”

“You didn't—”

“I did.”

Castiel paused, taking a mental step back. There was something here Dean wasn't addressing head-on.

“What have you done that you think is so much worse than my mistakes?”

A dark, haunted look that Castiel didn't understand passed behind Dean's eyes. For a moment, he was reminded of the their last discussion at the car before they had decided to enter Hell, of that look in Dean's eyes that had given him such an instinctual concern. But in a second Dean looked away from him, and it was gone.

Dean huffed, “You don't want me to answer that.”

“Of course I do, that's why I asked.”

Dean let his eyes fall shut. He shifted his weight. “Cas, what are you even doing here with us?”

“What?”

“What the hell are you doing here with a couple of idiots in a hole in the ground?”

“What— You and Sam are not idiots, Dean—”

“You deserve better than this fucking crap we got here, why do you even want to be here?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at him, trying to read his movements, running through all he had said, trying to understand— as he so often had to with Dean— what he _wasn't_ saying.

But when Castiel saw it, he hoped he was mistaken.

“You don't think I should care.”

Dean winced and drew back from the statement, all the confirmation Castiel needed.

“But… Why would you...?” Castiel found himself shaking his head against a rising frustration. “After _everything—_ I told you, Dean, I _told_ you—”

“Yeah, Cas, but— You're slummin’ it here with us when you could be— I dunno, you could be doin’ fuckin’ _anything,_  Cas.”

His chest clenched, “Dean… I _told_ you how much I want to be here… and you would just brush that off?”

Dean sighed. “No, Cas, I—”

“I _told_ you…” Castiel cut him off, his frustration taking on the edge of anger, “What you have here— How could you think I shouldn’t care!? My relationships here on Earth are the most important, the most precious, in all my life!”

“Cas, that can't be—”

“I wouldn't _say_ it if it wasn't true!”

“I know, but—”

“But apparently you don't! I would give up _everything_ of my previous existence just to keep the last ten years of my life!”

“Cas, stop, you're just—”

“No! _Just_ _ listen to me, Dean!” _

They both drew back. Castiel had made the same misstep again.

“I'm sorry.” Castiel reached out a hand.

“No. You're right,” Dean shrank back, “I'm being an idiot about it.”

“You aren't—!” Castiel caught himself and fisted his outstretched hand. He forced it back open and took a step toward Dean. “Dean, how can I make you understand? What more can I say?”

“I—!” but he stopped. Like a switch something in Dean just… deflated. Something just… gave up.

“I don't know, Cas,” he wouldn't meet his eyes, “so I'm sorry for that, too.”

Castiel sighed and lowered his outstretched hand. He could see that Dean had set his mind to this, and Castiel wasn’t going to change it. On another day, maybe he could, but as it stood he just didn’t have the energy or the insight to push farther. This argument alone had drained him again, and all he wanted now was to collapse into his chair.

“If you're going to insist,” Castiel said, “would you at least allow me to apologize as well?”

Dean kept his eyes on the floor. “Sure,” he said, but his face was pained, and his voice was flat.

Castiel held back a harsh snort. This was his least favorite thing about humans. They could so easily say one thing, but just as seamlessly show you another.

Dean cut his frustrations short with a hand weakly tossed at the room, “Look, um, you can keep resting here if you want...”

Castiel's heart leapt for some reason.

“...I'll just go to another room.”

His heart plummeted just as suddenly, if not more bafflingly.

“No, Dean—”

“It's fine," Dean said, his voice still flat. "You need it. I don't.”

And before Castiel could protest further, Dean was already out the door.

He had left. Again.

Castiel stood in his wake, staring at the door Dean had shut behind him, wondering where he had gone wrong this time.

It was easy to pick up where he had left off.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

That night, Castiel didn't stay in Dean's room.

 

Dean didn't return to it himself for another three nights.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

If Gabriel and Cas were the far ends of the mood in the bunker, Sam liked to think he and Bris were sitting in the middle. The third day after Dean had left found the two of them in the kitchen, laughing at the way Sam was trying and failing miserably to cut vegetables with his newfound telekinetic powers. On the counter next to them, Bris’s new phone played music through the little Bluetooth speaker Sam had gotten Dean for his birthday.

“They’re all haphazard-like!” Bris teased, pointing at the uneven lumps on the cutting board.

“Sure, but are they banjaxed?” Sam fired back.

“Oh— Well, I s’pose they are!” she smiled in happy surprise. “Pickin’ up some a’ my tongue there, are ye?”

“I mean, I sure hope so,” he winked and ducked to kiss her, but she pulled away with a snort.

“Tha’ was _awful,_ I’m not kissin’ you fer that!”

“What!? That was _excellent,_ come on—”

He leaned in again but she just laughed, “Cut it _out,_ ye langer!” and gave him a sharp swat on the ass.

Sam held back his flinch, covering it with a dramatic pout, and moved on quickly, trying to get her to laugh again by bumping his hip against hers to the beat of the current song. She held out valiantly, biting her cheek with the effort, but then the chorus came around, and Sam _knew_ he could get at least a smile from her by singing along:

 _“...You know she played the fiddle in an Irish band,_  
_But she fell in love with an English man,_  
_Kissed her on the neck and then I took her by the hand,_  
_Said, ‘Baby, I just wanna dance,’_  
_With my pretty little Galway girl..._  
_You’re my pretty little Galway girl…”_

And just as he’d hoped, he was rewarded with a wide, beautiful smile. “Oi now, what’re you doin’ singin’ to Ed Sheeran?” she asked with a laugh.

“You know who this is?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Lord above, Sam, I lived most a’ my life in the countryside, not under a rock.”

He chuckled, bumping into her one last time before returning to his attempts to hover the knife just right. The song continued on without him.

 _“...I never heard Carrickfergus ever sang so sweet,_  
_A capella in the bar usin’ her feet for a beat,_  
_Oh I could have that voice playin’ on repeat for a week,  
And in this packed-out room, swear she was singin’ to me…”_

Sam let the knife settle back on the counter and turned to Bris with a grin, “Would you be up for teaching me that?”

“Teachin’ you what, love?”

“Your tongue. I don’t know a word of Gaelic.”

“Well your first lesson is that it’s _Gaeilge,_ or just Irish if’n ye gotta be all _Anglican_ about it.”

“Well, I don’t. So Gaeilge it is.”

Bris chuckled and returned to cutting her own vegetables. “What wouldja even wanna learn that for? It’s a right frustratin’ language fer outsiders and it don’t mesh well with English at all.”

“Sure, but it’s _yours.”_ Sam stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. He leaned in near her ear, *Maybe I just wanna learn how to talk dirty to you.*

Bris snorted so hard she almost cut herself.  _“Lord above,_ I’d prob’ly die of a split side!”

“Alright, fine,” he chucked, kissing down her neck, “just the important stuff, then...”

 _“...I swear I'm gonna put you in a song that I write,  
_ _About a Galway girl and a perfect night…”_

“...how do I say ‘I love you’?”

He could feel the heat of her blush under his lips.

It took a moment of patience and a steadying breath, but she eventually answered him, her voice barely above a whisper:

_*Tá mo chroí istigh ionat.*_

Sam arched his brows in concern, “That’s a heck of a mouthful for ‘I love you’.”

“Well— Told'ja it don’t mesh well.” She tried to shrug him off.

But Sam stayed, sneaking in another quick kiss, “So what’s the literal translation?”

“Well, it…” she stumbled, flustered again, “it means, ah… it means... ‘my heart is within you’.”

Sam blinked at that. *Wow,* he breathed. “I like that _way_ better. Now I’ve definitely gotta learn this language.”

She fidgeted in his hold. “I mean, that ain't the _only_ way what to says it."

“Then you should teach me all the ways.” He let her turn around in his arms. “Come on, I bet you’d be a great teacher.”

“I guess... if you really wanna.”

“I really do,” he said, and tipped her chin up for a kiss that she hummed happily into. He pulled back, trailing his hand up to her cheek and taking a moment just to look into those stunning, dark eyes of hers...

“But you’ll still teach me to talk dirty, right?”

She bowed into him with her giggles until the next song came on over the speaker, this one a song they hadn’t heard before. A lovely violin swayed around them, the sound encouraging them to do the same. Sam smiled at it, and took Bris’s hand in his to lead them away from the counter. The singer soon entered, mingling in a lovely duet with the violin.

 _“Don't need a hero to save me,_ _  
_ _I'm not a girl to set free…”_

“Oo, I already like this one,” Bris smiled into Sam's chest.

He grinned and held her closer.

 _“...I might be strong, I might be weak,_  
_There might be a part of me that I won't let you keep,_  
_Been on this road, and come this far,_  
_Don't need a man to hold my hand,_  
_I just want one to hold my… heart!...”_

Back and forth they moved together, letting the sailing fiddle guide them around the room.

“You know…” Bris said maybe halfway through it, “this one's almost perfect, it is.”

“Almost?” Sam looked down at her. “What's wrong with it?”

She sighed happily and nuzzled into his shirt, tucking up under his chin. “Don't think there's any part a’ me that ain't for you, love.”

Heat crept up Sam's neck, “Shit, Bris…” he ducked his face into her hair.

“Oh, _sure!"_ she slapped his chest with a grin, causing Sam to jump, “‘Cause _you're_ the only one what's ‘llowed to say sweet things ‘round here, huh? Fuck you, boyo!”

Sam couldn't help but grin at the playful fire in her eyes. “Alright, sorry, I’m sorry!” he pleaded, kissing her temple, and they resumed their little swaying dance.

 _“...Don’t be afraid to hold this,  
_ _Even the thorns have roses…”_

A thought came to Sam, and he frowned. “Well…” he started, but thought better of it and shut his mouth.

Bris looked up, “What?”

Sam worried his bottom lip, not looking down to her, “Well, there _is…”_ he shook his head and turned them around in a little spin, “Nevermind.”

She pulled back to look him in the eye, _“Oh_ no, now I _gots_ to know.”

“Um…” He knew he'd never get her to drop it now, so he tired to step gingerly. “Well see, there _is_ a part of you that you won’t let me keep.”

It was Bris’s turn to frown. “What’re ye talkin’ about?”

Sam reflexively squeezed her hand sitting in his. “I just, um… Your coat.”

 _“Ohhh!”_ Bris snuggled back into his chest. “Yeah. You’re right. Ye got me there.”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He held her a little closer and smiled into her hair. “Teh mow… Tah mow kree...” he tried. “What was it again?”

He could feel her smile against him. _“Tá mo chroí istigh ionat, a chuisle mo chroí.”_ _(My heart is within you, my pulse of my heart.)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tah mow KHree iss-tee on-ud, a KHoosh-le mow KHree.  
> My heart is within you, my pulse of my heart. (I love you, my dearest.)  
> (With KH representing a sound along the lines of the Hebrew guttural h/ch in “Chanukah,” a sound we don’t have in English.)  
> Pronunciation rules for letters in Gaeilge are different than English, but are very consistent once one learns the alphabet and the rules.
> 
> "Galway Girl" {[Lyrics](https://genius.com/Ed-sheeran-galway-girl-lyrics) ~ [Song](https://open.spotify.com/track/0afhq8XCExXpqazXczTSve?si=R8HcTcziRUyZ_OLFyOxuXQ)} and "Hold My Heart" {[Lyrics](https://genius.com/Lindsey-stirling-hold-my-heart-lyrics) ~ [Song](https://open.spotify.com/track/5EeXZLPDNCWLpEHzNcL1U7?si=bIyVHMaxTq6FRsNa5V9J4g)} are both on the [Mooselkie](https://open.spotify.com/user/1261993671/playlist/17NDAiOUZ0H4MyL38JhOF7?si=op4LNbhQQ4mKoQjMKxixkg) playlist. I swear I must spend as much time on those playlists as I do writing, you should check them out! :D I update them with the series as I write.


	2. Car Radio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place over the six days Dean was gone. Please note the previous trigger warnings.

 

####  Car Radio 

 

 

For the first hour, there was nothing.

 

———

 

Around the second hour, he realized he must have successfully stolen a car, because he was speeding east down a highway.

Usually people leave their radios on. The silence Dean found himself in now told him that he must have turned it off at some point, as his new awareness was greeted by nothing but the hum of the engine and the soft gusts outside.

It had snowed sometime in the last few days. The roads had been plowed, but the winds of the Great Plains were already reclaiming them in its drifts. Dean checked if this car had four-wheel drive, but found it already engaged.

 

———

 

By the third hour he _needed_ sound, so he turned the radio back on, but he could only get one station.

 _“—I have these thoughts, so often I ought,_  
_To replace that slot with what I once bought,  
_ _'Cause somebody stole my car radi—”_

“Nope.”

He switched it off again.

And now he just sat in silence.

 

———

 

During the fourth hour he began to allow some thoughts back in. Just a few. Just enough to fill the violent quiet.

But there was so much. Crowley… Sam… _Cas…_ even Bris had bled over his ridiculous mistake.

His mistake.

That he thought he could pull that off.

That he thought things could ever work out.

That he thought he could do things.

That he thought—

That he thought.

 

———

 

At the fifth hour he stopped for gas. He avoided the drink coolers in the store.

 

———

 

In the sixth hour, he found himself asking why. Why to… well _everything._ Though one question, as he really should have expected, stood out above the others:

Why would Cas do that

_I've told you like a thousand times why_

And I've told you a thousand times to can it

_Cas charged into Hell for you—!_

He thought we were _both_ dead

_Yeah, and Cas was so upset at your deaths that he was going to take out an entire plane of existence if he could. But who did he stop for? _

…Direl?

He glared at himself. It was no less disconcerting than before.

_You're an idiot_

Yeah, I'm aware

 _No. Cas stopped for_ _you_. _Cas smiled at_ _you_. _Cas was going to die for_ _you_

~~Cas was going to die for you~~

_Whoa, hey, no— That's not what I—_

_Look, how about some tunes, okay?_

Dean tried the radio again. There was nothing but static.

He had already checked around for tapes, or even some stupid _CDs,_ but there was nothing in here for him to hide behind.

 

Dean hated this car.

 

———

 

The seventh hour brought a reminder. Not that he really needed one, but it was probably best practice to always keep in mind that he was stupid. He was so stupid. How could he have thought any of that would work? How didn't he see that asking Crowley for help was going to bite them all in the ass?

_You thought Crowley was trustworthy, he’s helped so much lately—_

~~You did see it. But you ignored it. You idiot~~

How didn't he see that Rowena was going to be bad news? That she was going to fuck with Sam?

_I mean, you haven’t really seen all that much of her lately—_

~~You did see it. But you did nothing. You idiot~~

How didn't he see that Cas would be hurt in Hell? That he should have never gone in?

_You tried—_

~~You did see it. But you didn't stop him. You idiot~~

 

~~You saw. But you can’t do anything right. You idiot~~

 

His new mantra kept him company through the eleventh hour of driving.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

He slept in the car. The ache in the morning was fitting.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

When he woke he left without breakfast. The slow roll of his stomach was filling enough.

Across this section of the Midwest, he should have had fairly consistent radio signals, but he was taking the back roads, not wanting to draw attention to this stolen car on the highways with those damned automatic tolls and their damned cameras, so for the second day in a row, he had almost nothing.

What he did have was a never-ending replay of what had led up to Hell. He ran through it all, over and over, and always came to the same conclusion: It was all his fault. All of it. Everyone had done what they should have, everyone had tried to tell him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen.

~~Yeah. Because you never listen. And everyone knows it~~

~~Sam fuckin’ knows it~~

~~_"You sure sound like Dad right now."_ ~~

~~And you’re no better than him~~

~~You’re _worse_ than him~~

~~Because _you’re_ an idiot~~

His mantra returned, leaving him only for the few fitful hours he managed to sleep that night.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

When he reached Appalachia, the piece-of-shit radio was finally able to get consistent stations again. Not that they helped much. It was all country crap. Dean cranked it anyway, but there was no distraction loud enough to mask his thoughts.

~~Crowley thought you wanted him~~

Crowley thought what he wanted to

~~You let Crowley think you wanted him~~

~~You accepted his gifts~~

The weight of the Colt still sitting in his coat pocket made itself known. He considered throwing it out the window.

~~You never stopped him~~

But I—

~~You liked the _attention_~~

No I didn—

~~You’ve always liked that attention, haven’t you? Why else would you do what you’ve done?~~

~~Maybe Crowley’s gifts just weren’t good enough for you. No, you prefer crumpled bills thrown from sweaty pockets, don’t you?~~

~~Weak. Needy. Slut~~

 

His protests fell to the bottom of his stomach.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

What the fuck was he doing?

 

Somewhere in New York, he almost had to pull over from the force of his realization.

He could have let Sam fly out.

He could be back at the bunker right now.

Sam could have had some time alone with Bris. Maybe Direl had wanted to come back out east. He should have stayed, he should be helping Cas right now.

So what the fuck was he doing out here in the middle of fucking nowhere?

~~Congratulations, asshat, you managed to fuck this up after all~~

Dean shut his eyes as long as he could, and tried to just keep driving.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

The radio cut out again in the mountains. Even the static was faint.

Dean quickly decided he liked it better when the car had sound, however unnecessarily twangy.

 

The next hours were difficult.

 

———

 

~~Crowley is back in Hell because of you~~

~~There's an open door to Hell because of you~~

~~Cas almost died because of you~~

~~Sam is a freak now because of you~~

~~Mom and Jack are still stuck and you have done _nothing_ —~~

He flipped the radio on and cranked the static as high as it would go.

~~Cas was going to die for you~~

~~Crowley took back Hell for you~~

~~Mom and Jack could be dead by now~~

~~Sam only let Rowena take that necklace off because you made him~~

~~Sam has always done his best for you~~

~~Sam has always tried so hard for you~~

~~And all you ever do is hurt him~~

~~All you ever do is hurt your family~~

~~_All you ever do is get people hurt_ ~~

~~_All you ever do is get people_ _killed_~~

~~_You’re worthless. Useless. Deadweight. Idiot _ _—_~~

 

~~You could pull the steering wheel~~

 

Dean stared out at the road.

What?

 

~~It wouldn’t be hard~~

 

He leaned to peek over the edge of the road, a steep slope packed with trees.

 

Nah

 

He sat back up and kept driving.

The owner of this car could never get it back. Their insurance claim would be insane.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

It was late when Dean finally crossed into Massachusetts. The last three days had been a blur of nothing but driving and sleeping, but he wasn’t about to stop. He was so close he could _hear_ his Baby calling out to him. He couldn't leave her alone on some godforsaken suburban street even one more night.

Another hour later, he pulled up behind her and was out of the stolen car before its rumble had truly died.

There was snow on her. _Snow._ Baby was a garage car now, she didn’t get _snowed_ on. At least it hadn’t been too cold lately, so he could still hope her engine would turn over.

The door locks weren’t frozen, an optimistic sign. He slid into the front seat, got the key into the ignition, gave it a shot...

And she started right up.

 _“That’s_ my girl…” Dean ran his hand over the dashboard. He stayed for a moment, feathering the gas to keep the engine going as she warmed up, and just enjoyed her perfect purr...

After meticulously cleaning off the windows— then deciding to rid her of _all_ of the snow, like she _deserved—_ the very first thing he did was snap open the glove box, snatch a tape from the box of cassettes, [ and slip it into the tape deck. ](https://open.spotify.com/track/4nXkbcTj3nyww1cHkw5RAP?si=l5PKF1aBSmapk9eMQrxLHw)

And within the first few beats of that sharp, snapping guitar, the tension just melted from his body.

 _“Down around the corner, half a mile from here,  
_ _See them long trains run, and you watch them disappear…”_

Thumping and pinging, chugging right along, the song drove through him, circling around and spiraling down into his chest. Just from hearing it, he could _feel_ his mind relax, it _sighed_ with relief.

He was back. Back where it felt good.

That night Dean found a little access road under a bridge that seemed as good a place as any to stop and rest. He settled in and let the cassette run, allowing The Doobie Brothers to lull him near to sleep before he pulled the key out, not wanting to run her battery down too far. Curled in the front seat, unfazed by the cold in this familiar embrace, Dean drifted off, and his easy sleep was filled with dreams of trains, and creeks, and watching the stars.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 _“...What the people need,_  
_Is a way to make 'em smile,_  
_It ain't so hard to do if you know how,_  
_Gotta get a message,_  
_Get it on throouugh,  
_ _Oh now, mama, don't you ask me why,_

 _Whoa-oa-oa, listen to the music,  
_ _Whoa-oa-oa, listen to the music…”_

Dean was somewhere in Pennsylvania, finally riding along highways and able to find _real_ radio stations again. The sun was peeking out from behind a wall of gray clouds, lighting the faded road before him, when a question arose. It was a question he’d asked himself a million times already on this trip, but now, safe in the warm surround of his car and his music, he wanted to give it another shot.

Why

Why the fuck had Cas listened to that demon? And why the hell did he fly off the handle like that?

_I don’t understand why I gotta keep telling you—_

Because you’re wrong, now shut up

_So you’re still not gonna listen to me_

Sure I will, when you have something helpful to say

He shoved that part of his mind under a pillow and promptly sat on it.

His current song faded out and the radio offered up the next one. Right from the first jangling chord, though, Dean didn’t bother to hold back a groan.

 _“Baby... when I think about you...  
_ _I think about looove…”_

“Come on, you too?” he whined at the stereo, and he switched the station.

 _“—eeaasy, take it eeaasy,_  
_Don't let the sound of your own wheels,_  
_Drive you crazy,_  
_Lighten up while you still can,_  
_Don't even try to understand,_  
_Just find a place to make your stand,  
_ _And take it easy…”_

“Yeah, that’s better,” Dean sighed, and he settled back into his seat.

Now if Sam were here, he’d never let this play, but here on his own, things were different. Because this? This was nice. Sometimes it was just the Eagles, or Creedence, or even The freakin’ _Outlaws_ that calmed him down the best. They had nothin’ on Zeppelin, of course, but there was just somethin’ about that southern rock, man. Somethin’ that just felt right…

Pulling back from the song, Dean tried his question again.

But he barely knew where to start. Cas was just so… hard to pin down lately. Though to be honest, Cas had always been a puzzle to Dean— with or without the recent bullshit his brain thought it was playing at. For years now it had been the same, one minute he’d have a handle on the guy, and the next Cas would go and do something like this.

But why...?

Maybe Cas was crazy.

The radio station switched to its next song, some god-awful Foreigner bit, immediately grating at his ears and tensing his every muscle. Seriously, why would any self-respecting station actually play _"H_ _eadgames”?_ God, it was just all kinds of wrong.

He quickly changed the dial and was rewarded with the soothing, swirling sound of some _much_ better Boston. The song soon picked up and that excellent, heavy riff got going and Dean found himself easily nodding along again. He tuned out a bit, returning to his train of thought.

No, Cas wasn’t crazy. Cas was a lot of things, but he hadn’t been crazy in years.

Cas must have just… taken the ‘news’ hard. Wouldn’t anyone?

The instruments dropped out, drawing Dean to the lyrics:

 _“...When I’m tired, and thinkin’ cold,_  
_I hide in my music, forget the day,_  
_And dream of a girl I used to know...  
_ _I closed my eyes and she slipped awaaay,”_

*Damn song,* Dean grumbled, and went to switch the station again.

 _“She slipped a-awaaay…  
_ _Awaaa-aaay...”_

_...I love you. I love all of you..._

No, god damn it, _no—_ not that night— not that night, god _damn_ it, _no!_

Hand shaking at the dial, he somehow found another station.

His fingers went white on the steering wheel as he tried to relax into the music again. The song he’d been given did its best to help with that, enthusiastically bouncing and jingling along:

 _“The mountain is high, the valley is low,_  
_And you're confused on which way to go,_  
_So I've come here to give you a hand,  
_ _And lead you into the promised land, so,_

 _Come on and take a free ride, free ride,_  
_Come on and sit by my side,  
_ _Come on and take a free ride…”_

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Yeah. That was much better. He gathered his thoughts again.

Of course Cas cared about them. He cared about them all, he’d said it himself. And if they actually died, of _course_ it would suck. But was Cas really just gonna throw his life away over two stupid guys?

Dean rolled his eyes to the roof of the car. Of course he would. He's friggin’ Cas.

He was friggin’ Cas, and Crowley was friggin’ right. He threw his life around like a golf club or whatever. _God,_ why wasn't Cas more careful?

 _“...You know all the answers must come from within, so,_ _  
_ _Come on and take a free ride, free ride...”_

You know what? He didn't want this song anymore. He jumped station to station until he found what he _did_ want.

 _“—And this bird you cannot change,  
_ _Lord knows, I can't change…”_

Aw, yeah... Ain’t gonna get much better than _“Freebird.”_

Dean took a deep breath.

 _Why_ was Cas so reckless? _Why_ was Cas so infuriatingly gun-ho when it came to them?

~~Because he cares so much~~

Yeah?

_Because he cares so much!_

Dean shoved that part of his mind even further down.

~~And why do you think that is?~~

Well… it’s his thing. He's just a caring kind of guy, you kno—?

~~No. He cares because of _you_~~

Don’t _you_ start—

~~He cares because _you_ brought him down~~

~~He cares because _you_ broke him~~

Dean blinked out the windsheild.

Br— Broke?

~~He was a great, powerful angel before you. He commanded _armies._ Or did you _forget_ again? ~~

I…

~~_You_ made him leave all that. _You_ convinced him to give it up. Now look at him. Slumming it with two idiots in a hole in the ground. You _ruined_ him. You _broke_ him. No wonder all this happened. No wonder he _just keeps dying._ Your selfish ass pulled an angel out of Heaven, and you did it just to save yourself~~

But it was—

~~And then you told him to _stay._ You told him you _wanted_ him to stay~~

I… I did... I did tell him to stay

~~And how the fuck was he supposed to take that? What was he supposed to think? He thought you cared~~

But I d—

~~No you don’t. If you cared you would have left him where he belonged. You would let him leave when he tries to leave. But no. He thought you cared and then _you_ ran headfirst into _motherfucking Hell_ when he told you not to, when he tried to stop you~~

But we had to—

~~He thought you cared, and he thought you died, and he ran in after you~~

~~Because of you~~

_“...Lord knows, I can't change,_  
_Lord help me, I can't change,_  
_Looord, I can't cha-ange,  
_ _Won't you flyyy hiiigh, freeee biiird, yeah.”_

~~And now what are you doing? Sitting here singing along to fucking Skynard while he's half-dead on a bed?~~

But he's gonna be okay…

~~Yeah, no thanks to you~~

The solo climbed above him to its dizzying heights as he fruitlessly tried to blink through the rising burn behind his eyes.

No thanks to me

~~No thanks to your stupid fucking crybaby ass~~

I'm so _stupid_

~~Thinking you can trust people~~

How didn't I see it?

~~Thinking you can do anything right~~

Fucking useless sack of crap—

~~Thinking you're any help to anyone~~

I'm not. I'm no good for no one

~~I'm no good for no one~~

 

~~I could pull the steering wheel~~

 

He looked out at the telephone poles whipping by.

 

…No…

 

He faced the road again.

No, he couldn’t do that to Baby.

The song gently faded out under him.

Not bothering to wait for what was coming next, Dean switched the radio station again.

 _“—Never been a sinner, I never sinned,_  
_I got a friend in Jesus!_  
_So you know that when I die,_  
_He's gonna set me up with,_ _  
The spirit in the sky…”_

Dean rumbled with an exasperated sigh and let his eyes shut for a moment, as though that could keep the jarringly upbeat tune at bay.

Officially fed up with the radio, he turned it off. He dug into his cassette box, put in the first thing he grabbed...

 _“Lord, I was born a ramblin’ man,_  
_Tryin’ to make a livin’ and doin’ the best I can,_  
_And when it’s time for leavin’,_ _  
I hope you’ll understand…”_

…and let The Allman Brothers spill over him, lulling him into an all-too-familiar numb.

 

 

 

About a quarter mile back up the road, at the base of one of those telephone poles, a woman that Dean couldn't have seen vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Playist of all the songs in this chapter](https://open.spotify.com/user/1261993671/playlist/7kAffbbdTsoyKVU3dBzC75?si=zW_Hf5LES--5hQMhunYVxA), plus a few extras that didn't make it to text.


	3. Chapter 3

 

_His voice is wild, agonizing, yet still truly absolute._

_The mortals below him cower. The brothers below him stare in awe._

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

In the hours after he had spoken with Dean, during that last search for where he had gone wrong this time, Castiel had actually found an answer.

If _Dean_ of all people couldn’t see how important everyone was to him, then perhaps he hadn’t been doing enough to prove it in the first place.

So Castiel had decided then and there that he needed a different strategy, and he finally left Dean’s room.

He began to try small things. He stayed in the common areas longer, he spoke to the others more, and he did his best not to shy away from their offered contact, their soothing hands and squeezing arms. Right away, he could tell these things were helping, so he did even more. He took up their offers to do things together, he did his best to stay present in conversations without "zoning off," and he did the others favors, both asked for and unprompted.

And the more he gave in to that nagging guilt to make it clear that he cared, the more he found that things improved. It wasn’t that he had forgiven himself, he would probably never forgive himself for how he had hurt the others so badly, but he could see it on everyone’s faces— and even better, in their words— their appreciation for these gestures.

Ten years Castiel had been doing all he could to tell them that he cared, and as had been proven to him twice over now, that had apparently amounted to nothing. But by placing himself solidly back into their company this way, he was making what he knew in the past would have been _months_ if not _years_ of progress, all over the course of just a few days.

Humans would never cease to simultaneously fascinate and infuriate him to no end.

But damn it, something was finally working. So he told himself— almost on repeat like a mantra— that this was good. He didn’t deserve it, and they certainly _shouldn’t_ accept him back so readily, but it was good. Here he was, doing what he could to repair the damage he had done, and they seemed happy with it. It was good. And the week progressed well. And it was good.

That is, until the seventh day after Dean came back from collecting the car. The day Dean confronted Gabriel.

But well before that, slotted between all this wonderful progress, there was a different sticking point that kept cropping up. Even as things were going so well, Cas found himself with a wholly separate concern— though as he really should have come to expect by now, that concern did involve Dean.

It wasn’t that Dean was doing anything troublesome. In fact, after their argument and subsequent exchange of apologies the night Dean came home, Dean seemed to fall into a steady routine: He woke up early. He ate. He searched for cases. He ate again. He slept for his standard four hours. And then he did it all again. It was almost strange, as such monotony would typically agitate Dean, but Cas could only assume he was fine with it, because when he had offered to break it up by watching some movies with him, Dean hadn’t been interested at all.

So Cas’s concern wasn’t anything Dean was _actively_ doing, per se. No, the thing was, interspersed in that consistent regimen were these… moments. Tiny moments that Cas would have never dedicated to memory before. Moments that were, on the surface, absolutely insignificant, and yet Cas found himself floating in them like a leaf suspended in the wind— helpless, frozen, and enraptured. In recent months, these moments had become more and more frequent, to the point that almost every day now, Cas was struck by something new.

When Dean would come out from the shower room, like a cruel repeat of when he’d left that motel bathroom an age ago, Cas found himself drawn to the droplets that gathered on the tips of his tousled hair. He found himself wanting to count each one that fell down his neck, wanted to count them first out loud with his voice, and then silently with the tip of his tongue.

When Dean would stand at the counter, making dinner or washing dishes, Cas found himself staring at that subtle curve of his lower back. He found himself wanting to know it, to measure it— but not through any numbers. He wanted to know it by heart. By the touch of his fingers alone. And he wondered if that physical wavelength in Dean would match his own.

When Dean would open yet another beer, Cas found himself watching as his tongue would dart forward to guide the liquid to his mouth, watching as Dean’s lips would wrap around the bottle, almost greedy for it. That was something unique to Dean— and Cas knew that, he had checked— no one else did what Dean did with a bottle. And it was torture.

Now in and of themselves, the feelings evoked in these moments were nothing new. He had experienced such urges before. But over these last months, they were different. This wasn’t the same thing he had so easily shunted away in years past. This was something else. This was something... _more._ It wasn’t just the urge to touch and hold, but to _have,_ and to _keep,_ to lavish upon and care for.

This new twist in this urge wasn’t entirely foreign either, he’d experienced it some with April, and certainly with Meg. But it had never been like this. Meg had come close, but… It had never been so _intense_ before.

And that intensity scared him.

On the fourth day of that week, when Dean unexpectedly leapt from his chair at the library table, in the midst of his concern Cas found himself watching the way Dean’s muscles flexed taught under his shirt, and this time, Cas deemed the distraction unacceptable.

He had to figure out what was happening to him. This wasn’t normal. This had the potential to be dangerous—

Although if Cas was honest with himself, it already had been.

But Cas had no idea where to start. He needed help. He needed to tell someone. He needed to ask someone… something. But who could he go to that might understand...?

Then Cas remembered.

There was another angel living in the bunker.

 

———

 

Gabriel was surprisingly hard to pin down. Cas wasn’t able to speak to him properly until the fifth day of the week, and even then Gabriel wouldn’t stay still until Cas had pleaded, insisting that this was important. Gabriel’s face had softened and only then had he taken a seat, cross-legged on top of the map table with his wings tucked neatly behind him.

Once he was finally there though, Cas found himself almost too nervous to even speak about it. That only served to deepen his concern and harden his resolve.

He began slowly, trying to coax the words out. “I would like… to ask your advice.”

“Well, you know I’m just a _fountain_ of wisdom,” Gabriel cracked, “have at it!”

“Yes. Of course.” Cas fiddled with some lint on his slacks. “I’m just... not sure where to start exactly—”

“Well, if you don’t start soon I’m gonna end up going gray over here!”

Cas squinted at him.

“Jeez, that was a joke Cassy,” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Come on, spit it out! You should know you can ask me anything.”

“Of course.” Cas shut his eyes, and tried forcing it out. “I have— these urges—”

“Find yourself a porn star,” he slapped the table, “Next question.”

Cas snapped his eyes open. “I wasn’t finished.”

“Oh.” Gabriel’s eyes darted. “My bad, go on.”

Cas sighed, slumping a bit. “Though I do suppose that sentiment is part of it. You see there's... there's specifically… There’s someone.”

“Someone?” An eyebrow shot up.

 _“Someone,”_ Cas said sharply, his own wings catching Gabriel’s eye as they twitched out in frustration. He took a moment to collect himself and continued. “And I _have_ appreciated their beauty for many years, but I’ve been able to understand and sequester _those_ desires. My concern is that lately there's… more.”

“More?” Gabriel drew his chin back.

“More. These urges— I want to… I want to do nice things for them. Favors, and gifts. And I know they would enjoy them, but I… I get nervous. I get too nervous, and sometimes I can’t go through with it at all.”

Gabriel nodded, a finger coming to tap at his lips, “Uh-huh...”

“And there’s this turbulence in me. When they’re happy I’m elated, when they’re upset, I’m furious.” Cas placed a hand over his chest. “Something as small as their smile releases a warmth in me that I’ve come to both treasure and dread.”

“Oh baby, wax poetic to me.”

“Gabriel.”

“Sorry, Cassy, go on.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “So that's how it began, and I was able to cope with _that,_ but lately there’s even more— all-consuming and torturous and _painful._ And yet, at the same time, I feel almost... settled. Even through all that nervousness I can feel so... unexpectedly comfortable. In the quiet moments, when there’s nothing but the two of us and some excuse that I’ve accepted to be with them... when I'm with them like that I feel as though I've finally found a safe place. A place I can relax. A place where the walls could fall if only…”

“If only,” Gabriel echoed forlornly.

Cas glared at him but went on. “I would do _anything_ for this person, and I hope down to my core that they would do the same in return... but that almost feels selfish. To want that. Because I covet this person. Things can be settled like that and yet a moment later I could still feel this _fire._ I _burn_ with it and I _desire_ them with every piece of my being! It fills my mind and I can think of nothing else!”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, the finger still at his lips.

“But then again…” Cas continued, “I don't want to... _possess_ this person. Well, I do, but it isn't— It’s that I want— I want to be _with_ them. _Next_ to them. I want to better myself to be equal with them.”

Cas raised his hands near his head, “And it's all so _confusing,_ Gabriel! All these conflicting things are happening at once and I'm constantly dizzy with it! I can't focus and I’m starting to feel like a danger to my friends… to my… to my family. I need help to deal with this. I _have_ to fix this.”

Gabriel had nodded throughout Cas’s speech, brow drawn together in careful concentration. Now his face brightened, and he held up his finger, and his mouth opened wide in a smile—

And Cas leaned forward, face lifting, lips parting—

“Little bro, I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about.”

Cas deflated. “Oh.”

“I know what it _sounds_ like, but it doesn’t make any sense. Been around for all of Time and I have _never_ heard of an angel feeling that kinda stuff. I mean, I’m not the most clued in on family business, but still,” he shrugged.

Cas shrank further in his seat. “Oh...”

“Now see... A couple of those things… I almost-sorta-kinda had something like that with Kali back in the day... And of course there’s angels who Fall, or angels who shack up for some long-term stuff, or even angels who pair off with each other, but what you're talking about… geez, it sounds more like _human love_ than anything.”

Cas froze, eyes going wide. “What?”

_I know who  you love... What you fear..._

“Yeah, it’s a messy thing.” Gabriel waved off the idea. “Glad we don’t have to deal with it.”

“But,” Cas furrowed his brow at the floor, his mind grasping at a hundred thoughts at once, “but we do feel Love…”

“Not like _that."_ Gabriel shook his head. “We Love _Dad,_ we Love His _Creation!_ We take Pleasure in His Joy— so I guess that whole elation, fury bit makes some sense— but all that icky gooey stuff?” He waved a hand over his chest. “We don’t got that.”

“But I do...” Cas frowned, “Unless I’m making it up.”

“Heck if I know, maybe you are,” Gabriel shrugged. “Look, if you’re feeling something like _human love,_ maybe you need to go ask a _human_ who’s in _love.”_

“I... suppose that makes sense…”

“Great!” Gabriel barked, and suddenly leapt from the table and clapped Cas on the back. “Now don’t go out and elope behind my back, you hear? Dad ain’t around, so they gotta ask _me_ for your hand!”

And with a short beat of his wings, he vanished.

Cas rolled his eyes to the ceiling, draping himself over the back of his chair and sighing at the irksome mannerisms of his older brother.

He shut his eyes with a sigh, and hoped with all he had that Gabriel was wrong. Because if this was… _that..._ thenit would be a problem encompassing multiple magnitudes.

But like Gabriel had said, that didn’t make any sense. So Cas latched onto that, and began to consider his options. 

 

———

 

That same day— the fifth day after Dean came back— found Sam and Bris in two of the armchairs in the library, tucked into the corner together with their latest books.

It was Sam who broke their comfortable silence.

“So… Dean yesterday, huh?” he said, his eyes illuminating for a moment as he turned his page fingerlessly.

 _“Mmm-hn,”_ Bris hummed curtly.

He scribbled two words on a sticky-note _(lampa, solas)._  “We still not gonna do anything?”

_“Nh-mm.”_

Sam sighed and reached over to place the post-it on the lamp on the table between them. “This whole thing is getting ridiculous.”

“Ain’t my place,” she sang high, and flipped her page.

“I mean, isn’t it though?”

She slowly looked up from her book.

“I mean— I just—” he bumbled under her disapproving gaze, “kinda just thought that was your thing… a selkie thing... you know, helping people.”

“Helpin’ my _spouse,”_ she said. “Ain’t got no spouse.”

Sam chuffed, “Yeah, not unless you’re hiding him from me.”

Bris raised a reproachful eyebrow but didn’t grace that with an answer, instead just returning to her book.

With a quick smile at how easily he had gotten off from that, Sam set his own book aside and stood.

“I’ll be right back,” he said as he placed a quick kiss to Bris’s forehead. “Haven’t seen Gabriel for a while, so I think I’m safe to leave your protective aura for a bit.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, barely looking up.

But when he turned to leave, a grin spread across her face, and she shot forward.

Sam yelped at the goosing, flipping back with a hand over his ass as she giggled behind her book.

Not exactly smiling, he started, “Hey, um—”

_“Samsquatch!”_

_“Shit!”_ Sam leapt back, spinning around. “Damn it, Gabriel—!”

“Sorry, hey, you got a minute?”

“Did— Did you just say ‘sorry’?" Sam frowned in concern. "What’s wrong?”

“Okay, first of all, ouch, I’m hurt, Sam,” Gabriel pouted. “Second of all, nothing’s _wrong,_ exactly…” He glanced to the side. “Well— Maybe it is. See, it’s about Cassy,” he pointed to the left. “Well it’s about Dean,” he pointed to the right. “Well it’s about—”

“Gabriel,” Sam gently lowered his crossed fingers. “How about you just sit down and tell us.”

“Us?” He peeked around Sam at Bris, who was looking back with wide, overly-innocent eyes.

Sam sighed to the ceiling and nudged Gabriel to their reading corner. “Just sit.” He pulled over a chair from the table and Gabriel reluctantly sat in it.

“Alright. So,” Gabriel started, hands drumming on his knees. “So the thing is… Did you… Did you maybe leave out some parts when you told me what’s been going on around here?”

“I don’t think so,” Sam said. “I suppose I could have forgotten something, but I tried to tell you everything I know.”

“Uh-huh. Could there be parts that you… don’t know?” he tried again.

“I mean, you could just ask Dean—”

“Darlin’,” Bris cut in, “he noticed, too.”

“What— _Ohh.”_ Sam’s brows shot up. “Right. Dean and Cas.”

“So I’m not just imagining it?” Gabriel asked.

“Not unless we _all_ are,” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Okay, good.” Gabriel sat forward and pointed his folded hands at Sam. “So what made Cas go crazy?”

“What?” Sam ticked back. “Wait, no, you’re confused, that was years ago—”

“Well if he’s not crazy then how else do you explain why my little brother is obsessed with a human he hasn’t even done the dirty with yet!?” Gabriel tossed his hands.

Sam shut his eyes and tipped his head, his mouth hanging open a moment before he could answer. “Well maybe he just _likes_ Dean.”

“What? That’s ridiculous,” Gabriel crossed his arms. “Look, he just came to me a little while ago, talking about all _sorts_ of crazy stuff that angels shouldn’t have. Obviously _something_ happened to him.”

“Spent a decade hangin’ around a fekkin’ looker, that’s what happened to him,” Bris quipped.

Sam turned to her, “Do you really think he’s a looker?”

Sam almost missed how she suppressed a wince. “S’just an objective observation, love.”

He looked down to the floor.

She reached out a hand to his knee, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Oh come now, darlin’, don’t you worry yer sweet head over that. He’s jus’ the pretty one, _you’re_ the gorgeous one.”

Gabriel nodded quickly in agreement.

Sam looked back up, teasing a smile as he sat straighter in his chair. “Oh.”

“But that still isn’t enough to explain this!” Gabriel insisted, pushing on ahead. “Sure Dean-o’s got those pretty peepers, but Cas was talkin’ about… mushy stuff.” His nose wrinkled.

“Well, Cas told me once that he and Dean have a ‘profound bond’ or something,” Sam shrugged. “Maybe that’s what he meant?”

“Yes!” Gabriel snapped his fingers. “That _has_ to be it! _Dean_ did something to him!”

“That’s not even what I said—”

“He ain’t done nothin’ to the poor lad or I’d’a seen it,” Bris countered. “Manipulation o’ the heart is easy to spot.”

“Well if it’s not that, then what?” Gabriel said, throwing his hands up. “What are we gonna do?”

“Why do everyone wanna _do_ somethin’?” Bris snapped in return. “Jus’ leave ‘em to figure it out for their _own_ damned selves!”

“No, I mean what are we gonna do to _fix_ it?”

Sam and Bris exchanged a look. _“Fix_ it?” Sam asked.

“Whatever the heck is happening to my little brother, he almost _died_ because of it. And from what you’ve told me, I’m running out of little brothers and sisters at an _alarming_ rate. I can’t lose him, too. I mean—” Gabriel tipped his head bashfully, “he’s one of my favorites. Except maybe Samandriel, that kid’s just the sweetest.”

Sam sucked in a sharp breath and bit his lip.

 _“Aw no…_ not Samandriel!” he cried. “How could you leave that out!?”

“I’m so sorry, so much has happened—”

“Look, just—” Gabriel held up a hand and ran the other down his face, “I told him to come talk to one of you, so you’ve gotta help me fix it.”

“Well I ain’t doin’ jack-squat,” Bris declared. “Sure as hell ain’t gonna _stop_ ‘em if it’s what they wants.”

Gabriel turned to Sam.

“I have about ten years of awkward silences waiting to be cashed in, I _need_ this payoff.”

He gaped at both of them. “So you don’t even _care_ that Cassy is all messed up?”

“He ain’t _messed up,”_ Bris scolded. “I’m tellin’ ya, I’d _see_ if anythin’ were wrong.”

Gabriel leveled his gaze at her. “You didn’t see him in Hell.”

“No, but I saw him befores, an’ I sure done tried to stop him then. But that were different. He thought _both_ these boys was dead.”

“But he—”

“Look, Gabriel,” Sam held out a hand, “I don’t know if it’s the same as what you and the other angels have, but Cas is our brother, too. Cas is our family. And we’re his family.”

Gabriel scrutinized Sam. Then dropped his head with a sigh. “Yeah. That’s what he said, too.”

Sam couldn’t help but smile. He tried to control it as he continued. “So can you see why he reacted the way he did in Hell?”

“Yeah, sure. I _guess,”_ he grumbled at the floor.

“Come on Gabriel, Cas wouldn’t do something that crazy over just _one guy.”_

Gabriel popped up, an eyebrow raised, “Thought you said he smashed one of Dad’s Tablets just to save Dean?”

“Yeah, well, we wanted that gone anyway—”

“And you said he gave up the rebel army so they wouldn’t kill Dean.”

“Yes, well—”

“And you said he almost went with Dean on the suicide mission to take out the Darkness—”

 _“Okay!”_ Sam relented. He huffed and fell back into his chair.  _“Geez,_ when you put it all together like that it makes me kind of embarrassed I didn’t see this sooner.”

“Well _I_ thinks yer just lookin’ at it wrong,” Bris offered Gabriel. “If these two finally go an’ get their heads outta their asses won’t that just make Cas wanna stay outta trouble all the more?”

Gabriel opened his mouth to protest, then lowered his brow in thought.

Sam offered sympathetic smile. “I know it might be hard to get used to, but Cas and Dean are gonna figure out what this is between them eventually, and knowing them they’re gonna need our support in it, whatever they decide to do.”

Gabriel continued to frown at the floor.

 _“Oh_ no, I knows that look.” Bris said. Her voice took on a serious edge, _“Gabriel.”_

He looked up at her, eyes a little wide at her tone.

She locked his gaze and said deliberately, “Cas ain’t messed up.”

He bristled, leaning back from her. “But this isn’t _normal_ for ang—“

“The fuck do that matter?” she glared at him, “What he feels is _his_ business an’ it ain’t _none_ a’ ours. He’s already got enough on his plate what with the pain I can see in him since Hell, so if yer not gonna be of help to him then ye better damn well  _shut yer yap_ an’ jus’ _let him_ _be.”_

“I’m his older brother, of course it’s my busin—!”

“It’s really not,” Sam cut him off.

Gabriel’s eyes flashed wide at _his_ tone, “Fine, alright.” He sat back in his chair, folding his arms. “But I’m still worried. I mean, don’t come cryin’ to _me_ when Dad has a hissy fit about him breaking his—” he stopped, suddenly tight-lipped.

“Breaking his what?” Sam asked.

Gabriel’s eyes flicked away. “Breaking his heart, duh! Dad’ll be downright Old Testament Wrathful if some asshat like Dean-o goes and breaks Cassy’s heart!”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“I’m tellin’ ya, the whole freakin’ family _loves_ Cassy,” Gabriel said, throwing a hand to the ceiling.

 _“Right,”_ Sam said slowly. “Well, I think we’re safe in that department,” he assured Gabriel, “from what I’ve seen I don’t think Dean could ever hurt Cas. Not on purpose anyway. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” He stood from his chair and headed for the hallway.

Like a switch, Gabriel perked up, calling after him, “Hey, where ya goin’, Sammich?”

“Nowhere!” he answered sharply, pointing back at him.

Gabriel slumped in his seat and pouted.

He raised hopeful eyes to Bris.

She paused from retrieving her book, catching his gaze. Biting the side of her lip, she looked from him to the hall and back again.

“He’s headin’ fer the jack,” she said.

An evil grin spread across the angel’s face, and he disappeared.

Bris found her page, but waited a moment to start reading again...

_“ Damn it, Gabriel!” _

Her own grin tugged at her lips as she returned to her book.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

####  ** Run from Revelation  **

_“...Back when I was a young man,_  
_I used to be a strong one,_  
_I could stand through the storm,_  
_And command it to pass,_  
_Now I'm long in the tooth,_  
_And I'm tellin’ you children,_  
_You'd better learn some respect,  
Because I don't need your sass,_

 _If I could run from Revelation,  
_ _I'd run straight back to Genesis...”_

 

The numb that Dean had reached was safe. It was predictable. It was something he could handle.

~~It was something he couldn’t fuck up.~~

He would wake up, make breakfast for the occupants of the bunker that actually ate, sit in front of his laptop pretending to look for cases, make dinner, and go to bed. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. It kept him going… somewhere. And it kept him from thinking… things.

Though his flow _was_ occasionally interrupted by these weird sticky-notes he kept finding everywhere, nonsense written all over them.

But that weirdness aside, he was fine, coasting steady— until the fourth day after he had come back. Fuckin’ Thursdays. He had always hated Thursdays.

Sam, Bris, and Direl had joined him at his usual place at the library table. As much as he’d rather be alone, Dean tried not to begrudge them that, wasn’t like he owned the damned table, after all. Sam had even brought him a beer, so how upset could he be? The three of them just talked to each other, mostly leaving Dean to his not-searching, so he was fine. Fine for a while, anyway.

Because soon, whatever conversation was happening around him shifted, and when Dean glanced up he found that Cas had come to join them, setting a bottle of Snapple, sans lid, in front of Bris. The lid had stayed in Cas’s hands as he sat next to Dean and eagerly read his little factoid to them: _Sea Otters hold hands while they sleep so they don’t drift apart._ Dean couldn’t care less, but of course Bris had to coo at how damned adorable that sounded, and of course Sam had to reach for her hand under the table, and of course Direl had to ask what a freakin’ sea otter was, because of course they don’t _have_ those in the Atlantic. And of course _that_ had sent Cas off into a whole _thing_ about how otters were a _vital ‘keystone’ species in their ecosystem,_ something about _urchins_ and _kelp_ or some crazy crap like that. And of course Cas had just kept _going_ and _going_ with it, on and on about the ocean and successful rescue programs and shit, and _of course_ Dean could just _hear_ that little smile growing on his face...

As much as he resisted it, Dean was drawn out a bit, drawn out from this little bubble he had made for himself. For a while he tried to keep pretending, tried to just keep looking at his screen, but he hadn’t actually read anything in hours, and Cas was just so _into it..._ Eventually he didn’t see the point anymore and closed the laptop, finally picking up the beer Sam had brought and facing Cas.

To hear that enthusiasm was one thing, but to _see_ it… To see the way Cas grasped that cap like it was the most precious gift he could be given, to see how he bounced just a little when someone asked him a question, to see that _damn smile..._

It really hit Dean then that he had almost lost this. He had almost lost _Cas._ _Again._ He had almost lost the way Cas could just talk for ages about any little thing, he had almost lost the way that stoic face could brighten when someone else understood, he had almost lost the way his eyes could fuckin’ _sparkle_ like that...

By now Dean had no idea what Cas was actually talking about anymore, but he didn't even care. Really he _couldn’t_ even care, because he found himself wanting to just...  _be_ there. Because he _hadn’t_ lost Cas. Cas was _here._ Cas was here, with him, in the bunker... in _their_ bunker. Their bunker, the place that he had said— in no uncertain terms— was the only place he wanted to be. All the world to choose from and Cas wanted to be here, with them. And he _was_ here and—

Oh

And he was smiling at him.

 

And Dean smiled back before he knew what he was doing.

 

And his heart soared before it asked if it could.

 

And his mind came to a realization before he could tell it no.

 

Dean's chair toppled to the floor with a clatter. His beer fell from his hand and what little was left spilled across the table.

Everyone looked up at him, staring at him just standing there like a cornered animal with his hands spread, his eyes wide, his heart pounding—

“...Dean?”

Oh god _damn_ it, why was his voice so _goddamned_ _wonderful,_ god _damn it—_

“I have to—” Dean couldn't stop staring at him. He had to stop staring. He stepped backwards, almost tripping over the chair. “I have to—”

He bolted. He bolted for the hallway, rushing past the room he’d been sleeping in, all the way down the hall and around the corner where he finally stopped, where he fell against the wall, clutching at his shirt, clutching at his speeding heart.

_Alright, look—_

No! No, just— No!

_I mean, I wanna say I told you so—_

No. No, no, no, no…

His hands flew up to his hair. This wasn't okay. A crush on your best friend, _sure!_ What's the harm in that!? But _this?_

 _It’s not like this is_ _new_ _or anything—_

No. Fuck this, _no!_

_Yeah, okay, I’m just gonna wait for you to calm down_

Calm down? _Calm down!?_

This couldn’t be happening. Not again. This hadn't worked with Cassie. This hadn't worked with Lisa. This sure as _fuck_ wasn't gonna work now.

_Well, not with that attitude_

This shit doesn't work! This shit only hurts! This shit doesn't _work!_

 _Okay, but we know that it can. You’ve_ _seen_ _Sam, right?_

That’s different! _He’s_ different! This doesn’t work!

_It worked for him—_

But it doesn’t work for _me!_

“Oh my god,” Dean breathed, “Oh my _go—”_

“R’you _fuckin’_ kiddin’ me?”

Dean snapped up at the voice. Direl had just rounded the corner—

And he was _pissed._

“A _look?_ R’you _fuckin’ serious?_ A _look!?”_

“I— What?”

“I been tryin’ fer _months!_ I. have. been. _tryin’_ fer _MONTHS!”_

“You— _What?”_

“You an’ that boy r’ _crazy_ fer each other, but you been _too damn thick_ to sees it!”

“What—? I'm not— He’s not—”

 _“Ach,_ stow it,” Direl spat, turning away from him with a palm raised. “God, I can't— M’ so damn pissed wit’you I can't even look atcha righ' now.”

Dean looked around the hall, as though he might see what the hell was even going on anymore.

Direl rounded on him again, “Years! It's been _years!”_

“What? That—”

“I can _see_ yer damned heart, ye _amadáin!”_ He rolled his eyes, throwing a hand at Dean’s chest. “I can _see_ the damned wounds! These’re _old._ These’re _deep._ I didn’t understand ‘em befores, but I sure sees it now! Mother of God, you been blind to this fer _so_ _long..._ I done _tried_ to get you two to see— I were startin’ to think it were gonna take an Act a’ _God,_ I did! I tried an’ I _tried_ an’ in the end all it took was one sweet little _look?”_

Direl turned away again, taking a few steps down the hall, one hand running down his face. 

_“As ucht Dé_ , you done thrown me for a loop... You threes came down to that river with yer hearts all _sorts_ a’ banjaxed an’— an’ I means, how could ye go an’ _give yer heart to another_ and _not_ at the _same_ _fuckin’ time!?_ Well fuckin’ hell, now I sees it! You're _too damned thick_ that's how!

“An’ _now—_ well Sam got _his_ shit figured out, but I been tryin’ with you two fuckers fer _months_ and what do I get? A crap little _look?_ An’ then you jus’ _run off?_ No earth shatterin’—! No drama—!” He came back and got right in Dean’s face. “No fuckin’ way! I ain’t done all this work for you to chicken out now. So you get your pert little arse back in there and you take that angel for all he's worth or I swears—”

The next thing Direl knew, he was slammed up against a wall, head banging against the tile and Dean's arm cutting sharply into his collarbone.

“I don't know where the _fuck_ you think you get off,” Dean snarled, just inches from his face, “but you are gonna butt the _fuck_ out of my business or so help me I will take your ass back to that farm myself and throw you _right_ over those fuckin’ gates, do you understand?”

 _“I—”_ Direl squeaked. His adams-apple bobbed. “Aye, boss. Bu- Buttin’ out.”

Dean wrenched his arm away, allowing Direl to collapse against the wall.

“If you say a goddamned word to Cas…” he started, pointing in Direl’s face.

Dean didn't need to finish his threat. Direl could see in no uncertain terms that he would follow through. He nodded fervently.

With a final scathing glare, Dean left and went to his room for the first time in three days, slamming and locking the door behind him.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 _"Back when I was a young man,_  
_I used to be a hard one,_  
_I could whip any beast,_  
_That stood in my path,_  
_Now I'm long in the tooth,_  
_And I only seek comfort,_  
_My days pass like hours,_  
_And the world moves too fast,_

 _If I could run from Revelation,_  
_I'd run straight back to Genesis,_

 _Cry, I want to do it again,_  
_Cry, I want to do it again..."_

 

The last day of the week was not a good one.

There was no semblance of a bubble to be found. There was no way to return to the numb. Everything was upside down inside of Dean and nothing was going right, nothing even had the decency to _pretend_ to go right.

That morning, Dean went to the empty coffee pot and reached for his mug, but it wasn’t there. He grumbled some scathing curses about _pompous bastards_ and tried to focus on readying the pot instead.

But as he fetched the coffee grounds, he found another one of those goddamned sticky-notes on the can.

 _Caife,_ it said. Mocking him.

He snatched it off, crumpled it, and threw it over his shoulder to the floor.

Sam entered the kitchen then, and it was all Dean could do to keep his anger in check.

“Where the fuck is Ketch?” he demanded.

Sam drew a breath to answer, but paused as his eye caught the crumpled note. “Hey, did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Are you the one who’s been messing with my notes?”

“Are you the one who’s been putting goddamn gibberish on everything?”

“It’s not gibberish, it’s Gaeilge!”

Dean scoffed.  _“Gwail-guh?_ What, another stupid magic language we get to learn?”

“Don’t let Cas hear you talk about Enochian like that, you’ll hurt his feelings.” Sam picked the note up from the floor to smooth it out. “And no, it’s not magic, it's the language Bris speaks, she’s teaching me.”

“So you mean Gaelic?”

“I mean Gaeilge. Look, just say Irish, it’s complicated.”

*Always _fucking_ is,* Dean mumbled.

Sam went to put the note back on the can, reminding Dean of why he was originally pissed. He snatched the note from Sam’s hand and brandished it at him, “Where the fuck is Ketch?”

Sam snatched the note right back, suddenly agitated. “He’s— he’s around,” he snapped.

“I told you if he wasn’t gone by the time we got back—”

“Yeah, but you haven’t _been_ back, Dean. You left.”

Dean’s lip twitched and he turned back to the counter.

Sam sighed at his back. “I kind of had a lot on my plate what with taking care of everyone around here, so excuse me if straight-up murder wasn’t near the top of my list.” He slapped the note back on the can, “Tell me when the coffee’s ready,” and turned to leave so fast that he almost ran into someone.

“Oh! Sam!” Bris yelped in surprise.

“Hey, sorry,” he said, his previous mood already disappeared with a soft smile. He moved out of her way, but she didn’t come further into the kitchen. “Um, did you need something?”

Her eyes flicked from him to Dean. “Ah, no. No, I were just…” she glanced around the kitchen, landing on the pot, “I were just seein’ if there were any coffee, an’ lookit there, seems there ain’t. So, ah, nevermind.” She backed away and hurried out of the kitchen.

Sam shrugged and left after her.

Dean looked from them back down to the note. *Yeah,* he huffed, *I’m sure you’ve been _real busy.*_

He finished setting up the coffee maker and grabbed some other stupid mug while he waited. When it was finally ready, it just so happened no one was around to care if he may or may not have added a shot from his flask into it.

He was considering the pros and cons of saying 'fuck it' and letting everyone fend for themselves for breakfast, when Direl came through the door.

Any trace of a smile was wiped from Direl’s face and he froze.

When Dean didn’t react in the slightest to his appearance, he seemed to decide it was safe to approach, and went to a cupboard for the tea bags.

Neither man spoke as he prepared the tea kettle Bris had bought.

But the way Direl was standing was blatant, holding himself tight as a drawstring, broadcasting loud and clear that he was ready to bolt any second.

Dean sighed through his nose, and he turned to Direl to say—

_“‘Morning, fellas!”_

Dean jumped a foot in the air, spilling scalding coffee everywhere and swearing vehemently.

_“Gabriel!”_

Dean made to grab him, but got nothing but air.

“God _damn_ that fucking shithead! I swear if we didn’t need him I’d—”

Dean stopped and turned back to Direl, who was pouring boiling water into his mug as if nothing had happened at all.

“What—?” Dean gaped at him, “Did that—? Did you not see him?”

 _“Hm?”_ Direl looked up from the tea bag he was dunking. “Oh, no, I done seen him, alright.”

“Then what—? How are you so… fine?”

“Oh, well ye know,” Direl picked up his steaming mug between his hands, “I’m just ignorin’ him, mostly. Plus everyone else here’s in the same boat, so,” he shrugged, “that helps.”

“That helps?”

“I dunno, makes me feel a mite better.” He took a sip of his tea. “Pro’ly can’t keep it up forever, but I’m dealin’ with it for now.”

His damned calm did nothing for Dean’s mood.

Dean refilled his coffee, re-added his shot... well, maybe closer to two, and left for his usual place at the table, forgetting completely about making breakfast.

But he couldn’t concentrate on not concentrating. Even his veneer of effort was tiring today. And people kept trying to _talk_ to him. And goddamned _Gabriel…_ he kept it up all day. Really he’d been doing it all week, but as Dean’s frustration rose today he only got worse. Finally, Dean couldn’t take it anymore, and the next time the angel appeared to spook him that afternoon, as he headed to the kitchen for another beer, he was ready.

 _“Hey,_ crabbypa—!”

Dean snatched the front of his shirt and jerked him close. “You’ve only been here a week and I’m already _sick_ of you,” he growled in his face.

Gabriel, far from intimidated, frowned at Dean. “I’ve been here longer than—”

“I don’t _care,”_ he cut him off, “I’m done dealing with your _shit.”_

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh are you?”

 _“I am,”_ Dean snarled. “So we’re gonna get this fuckin’ show on the road and you’re gonna get the _fuck_ out of my hair.”

Only now was Gabriel’s jovial demeanor cracked. “Come again?”

“We’ve got everything geared up and ready to go for this spell, except _your_ bit.”

“Well I don’t exactly have the juice to _give,_ sweetcakes,” Gabriel said, his voice forcibly smooth and saccharin.

“Maybe you would if you quit _jumping around_ all over the—”

“You don’t get to decide what I—”

“Right now I do! I’ve got _lives_ at stake here!”

“Two! _Two_ lives! You want to open a door to another world where another brother of mine wants to start _another_ forsaken war, for _two_ lives!”

“Dean!”

Sam ran over and shoved Dean off of Gabriel, “What the hell are you—?”

“This is my _mom!”_ Dean shouted as though Sam weren’t even there, “And your _nephew—!”_

“Versus the _world!”_ Gabriel shouted right back. “You short-sighted ass-clown, you’re only thinking about yourself!”

“I’m thinking about my _family!”_

“Like you actually care about—”

 _“It is ALL I care about!”_ Dean bellowed at him. “That is _all_ I care about right now, and _you_ are standing in my way!”

“And what if I never agree to give you a single _drop,_ huh?” Gabriel shot back. “What are you even gonna do if I never agree to help you with your _insane_ plan?”

Sam caught Dean by the chest as he went to step forward. Dean barely registered it. “You don't _get_ to say no.”

The next thing Dean knew he was snatched from the middle of the room and slammed against the wall, plaster cracking around him and falling to the floor. When the stars faded from his vision and he opened his eyes, it was in witness to the fury of the Archangel Gabriel on terrifying display before him.

 _“You haven’t seen what I’ve seen,”_ he snarled with a voice that echoed in Dean’s ears.

But Dean just glared back at him. “I don’t _care_ what you’ve seen, I just need what you _have.”_

Gabriel’s body flashed with grace, the lights of the bunker surged, and Dean would have sworn he saw the shadows of enormous wings flare sharply in afterglow.

 _“You insignificant speck of a being, you must have a_ _deathwish_ _, saying that kind of shit to me.”_

Something in Dean managed a dry smirk. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Gabriel’s glowing eyes flashed wide, and he took his hands from Dean. His rage faltered for only that moment, though, and the lights above them surged again, for Gabriel had one more thing to say to him.

 _*You wouldn’t deserve him,*_ he said, low enough that only Dean could hear.

The smirk vanished from Dean’s face. “You think I don’t know that?”

_“I just want to make sure you never forget.”_

The lights flared in the bunker once more, and Gabriel vanished.

Sam stared at where Gabriel had just been, his eyes darting between that spot and Dean. He jerked himself back with a hop and sprinted for the other rooms, calling out for him, checking if Gabriel had just flitted like before. But Dean knew that this was it. Gabriel was gone.

He looked up and saw that everyone else had come to see what the commotion was about. Even Ketch had poked his head around the corner.

Everyone had witnessed. Everyone had seen.

~~Everyone had seen exactly how bad Dean could fuck up.~~

Their eyes were on him. All of their eyes were on him and he couldn’t take it. He pushed himself off the wall and crossed the room for the hallway.

“Dean...”

Cas’s voice was like a knife slicing across his heart, so soft now, so fucking _caring._ He jerked away from that outstretched hand and darted into his room, _still_ the first door in the hall, and he wished with all he had that the bunker would move it anywhere else. Move it to the fucking _moon_ if it could, just anywhere but here.

But the bunker wouldn’t comply. Not that Dean would know until morning.

He sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, and the silence of his room that he thought might actually be helpful was anything but.

~~Why couldn’t I just let it be?~~

~~How could I do that?~~

~~I ruined everything~~

~~I ruin everything~~

He looked up, and his gaze found the wall of his room. The wall he used to be so proud of. The wall full of the souvenirs of his trials from years past. The wall full of knives, and swords, and guns.

It might have been a full minute before he said no.

No. He couldn’t do that to them. Couldn’t do that to Sam, or Cas, or Bris. They’d have to clean up the mess.

He turned his back on the wall, curled up on his side, and begged to simply cease existing.

 

 

 

At the foot of his bed, a man that Dean couldn't have seen vanished.


	4. Chapter 4

 

_They had failed. This is a mistake. A terrible mistake. They all cover their ears in a desperate bid for relief._

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

For the better part of the next week, Sam didn’t even speak to Dean.

He tried, sure, at first, but it was no use. Dean shut him down at every turn. Like always. Sam told himself it didn't matter, that it was probably for the best, anyway. He was so upset at Dean right now he didn’t even know what he'd end up saying. So he chose to let it be, and the two of them just continued around the bunker like the other wasn’t there.

In the meantime, Sam kept himself busy looking for Gabriel. There was no way they could follow him, and after the shit Dean had said to him, summoning him back was the last thing Sam wanted to do, so he watched the headlines, looking for Gabriel's old tells, looking for angelic omens in general, looking for anything really.

And he did find things, just not exactly what he wanted. A few possible cases, little things that Dean must have missed last week. He jotted them down to investigate later.

It was while he was doing that, sitting in the map room with his laptop, absently twirling a pencil on the table with a waving finger, that someone approached him.

“Sam? Do you have a moment?”

Sam slammed his hand to the table and his glowing eyes shut, chest flashing with panic that it was Dean next to him. 

It wasn't of course, but he took a second to calm down all the same, eventually looking over to find Cas standing next to him, regarding him terribly seriously.

“Uh, sure, man," Sam said. "What’s up?”

“I may…” Cas fidgeted with a button on his coat, “I believe there’s a problem you may be able to help me with.”

“Alright.” Sam turned in his chair to face him fully. “What is it?”

“Well, I…” Cas started, but he stopped, apparently not sure what to say.

And suddenly Sam sound himself fighting a smile, because he remembered then that Gabriel had previously directed Cas to them for help with his “problem.”

God, how lucky was it that Cas had chosen to come to him instead of Bris? This was so perfect, he could finally put this ridiculousness to bed! Oh wait—  _yech—_  poor choice of w—

“I’m worried about Dean.”

Sam blinked, pulling his chin back. “What?” 

“I’m worried about Dean,” Cas repeated.

“That’s a problem?” Sam blurted.

Cas shuffled on his feet. “Well, not _being_ worried, I suppose, but... his behavior these last few days has been... particularly concerning.”

Sam shook his head. “What are you talking about?” he asked, still recovering from his whiplash.

“Well... he’s been very distant…”

“He’s always distant.”

“He’s been drinking a lot…”

“He’s always drank a lot.”

“He’s become particularly easy to anger.”

“Well he _did_ just drive off Gabriel, kinda messed up our only chance to get Mom and Jack back. And even before that, it’s been a stressful time around here.”

Cas nodded, though he took up his button again. “I see... Perhaps I’m overreacting.”

“Probably. I mean, I’ve seen him at his worst, way worse than this. Whatever this is will probably pass once we find Gabriel and get the plan back on track. Dean’s just… being extra Dean-y lately.”

Cas nodded again. “Right. Thank you, Sam, I knew you would have better insight.” He released his button to take hold of the back of the chair beside Sam. “But… Sam… you heard Gabriel. He may not agree to comply with his part of the spell.”

“Nah,” Sam said easily, “I mean, it might take a while, but we’re talking about _Jack_ here. His _nephew._ Boy, Cas, you should have seen his face when I told him he was an uncle. Really, I’m pretty sure he’ll come around.”

“I only mean… Sam, we may have to consider the alternatives.”

“Alternatives?”

“...Gabriel isn’t the only archangel.”

Sam’s blood ran cold.

“Cas, we don’t need them,” he answered sternly. “We have Gabe.”

“I’m only saying we may need to consider them. Just in case.”

His upper lip twitched. “Right,” he said, and turned back to his laptop, effectively ending the conversation.

Not that Cas got that memo. “I’m sorry, Sam, I only want us to be prepared. And with the threat of this alternate Michael looming—”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Sam tried not to snap, though his voice was tight. “We might. We might consider them. Just in case.”

Cas sighed softly. “Alright...” he said, his eyes skipping to the floor, and he fell quiet.

After a moment Cas straightened up, looking around the room fruitlessly. “Do you know where I could find Bris? I wanted to ask her something.”

“Haven’t seen her in a while. Sorry.”

“Oh— Well— Thank you anyway,” Cas said. He stood for a moment longer, fingers twitching, before he abruptly headed back up the stairs into the bunker and turned toward the kitchen.

It took a few minutes, but soon enough Sam realized he’d just sent Cas to Bris to talk about his other “problem.” When he did, he just dropped his head between his shoulders and sighed.

Damn it. Now it was going to take so much longer to sort those two out.

He sat back up and pushed his frustration into his search for Gabriel, trackpad clicking and pencil spinning, getting so into it that he almost didn’t hear the next voice that piped up next to him.

“...Sam?”

Almost. Her tone immediately drew his gaze, and the pencil skittered to the other side of the table.

“Yeah, Bris?”

“Could we, ah…” she began to wring her hands, “could we talk?”

Sam immediately shut his laptop and pushed out the chair next to him, reaching out to take her hand as she sat down. “Yeah, of course, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’s wrong!” she said too quickly. “Why’s somethin’ gotta be wrong?”

“Because something is obviously wrong,” he looked her up and down. She was fidgeting and hunching her shoulders.

“I mean… it don’t have to be somethin’... _wrong…”_

Sam reached out to take her other hand as well. “Alright, that’s fair. How about you tell me what it is, and then we’ll know, okay?”

She nodded, but didn’t look up from her lap. “Well, see, it's that... Well, I only just suspected… jus’ a few days ago now, but… I mean… I’m…” She let her eyes shut, and inhaled deep. “I think I’m late.”

Sam furrowed his brow. “Late? Late to wh—” His heart dropped. “Oh.”

Her eyes snapped open, _“‘Oh’?”_

“Well, not like a bad ‘oh’! I mean— unless— is this good?”

“I… I don’t really...” she said, faltering again, “I was kinda hopin’ that maybe you’d... be excited or—”

“This isn’t my call to make,” he said as much for himself as for her. He ran his thumbs across her knuckles, trying to soothe the tension there. “How do _you_ feel?”

“I… I don’t...” she started. She tried again, quietly, “I don’t know if I can handle it, Sam.”

He searched her face, and found something unfortunately familiar there, though he didn’t understand where it was coming from. “You don’t think you can handle…?”

Furious eyes flew to his. “Bein’ fuckin’ _plugged!”_

Cas happened to come back then, no doubt drawn by Bris’s voice. “You’re not pregnant,” he stated matter-of-factly, and offered her an open bottle of juice, the cap held in his other hand.

She turned in her chair to him, not even acknowledging the drink. “An’ how the fuck would you know that?”

“Because you’re not menstruating.”

She stared at him. “An’ how in the _fuck_ would you know _that?”_

“Well, because I stopped that.” 

Bris continued to stare as her mouth fell open.

“I’ve been clearing Dean’s arteries and realigning Sam’s vision for years,” Cas continued, oblivious. “Women frequently complain about their menstrual cycle, so I thought you might appreciate—”

“Wait-wait, back up— You’ve been doing what?” said Sam.

“You long ago developed astigmatism and optic nerve damage from your frequent head injuries. And, well, the condition of Dean’s heart shouldn’t really be a surprise.”

Sam leaned back, dumbfounded.

Bris, however, stood from her chair to fully face him.

“Castiel,” she said, low and dangerous, but also wavering, “I don’t have the words to tell you jus’ how not alright that is.”

The hand holding out the bottle finally lowered a fraction.

“You’re… You’re upset…”

 _“Upset?”_ she burst. “Yer damned right, I’m upset! Where the _fuck_ do you get off fuckin’ with my business like that?”

“I—”

“How could— It’s not the same as fuckin’ _arteries!”_

“I— I thought—”

“Apparently ye didn’t or ye’d’ve realized just how _fuckin’—!_ How could you—?” her eyes darted between his, “How _could_ you?”

“I’m- I’m sorry—” He hurriedly set the bottle on the table and reached out a hand, “Here, I’ll—”

She leapt back from him, away from the table entirely, and Sam recognized this fear in her eyes.

Cas reached out again, “I’m just going to—”

“I don’t want yer magic crap anywhere nears me!”

“Yes, so I’ll just—!”

“Bris, hey,” Sam stepped between her and Cas. “Hey, look at me.”

He could see she was starting to shake, with fury or fear he didn’t know.

“Yeah, here,” he said softly and held his arms out. But she stayed back, so he took a small step forward. “It’s okay, he didn’t mean to hurt y—”

“I don’t give a flyin’ _fuck_ what he meant!”

“I know, I know, just...” he offered his arms again.

That indignant defiance he was coming to know so well flashed in her eyes, and it took all he had not to sigh at her.

“Bris, this is just a misunderst—”

Her face darkened sharply, and before he could do anything else, she spun from him and stormed out of the room.

*Damn it.* He turned back to Cas, “You stay here,” he pointed at him, and followed after her.

She hadn’t gone far. He found her pacing in the kitchen.

“...fuckin’ _bastards!_ Don’t even— Just up an’—”

“Hey,” he interrupted her, reaching out for her arm.

She jerked away.

He reflexively raised his palms. “Bris, Cas didn’t want to hurt you—”

“Why’re ye takin’ _his_ side?”

“What? I’m not!”

“Yer _defendin’_ him!”

“I’m just trying to explain—”

“Don’t much wanna hear no _damned explanations!_ Ain’t nothin’ what t’ explain!”

“But he—” Sam stopped. This wasn’t working. He stepped back and spread his arms again, “Bris, please.”

But her anger still burned in her eyes, and she stayed back.

 _“Mo chroí, (My heart/My darling)”_ he tried instead, _“le do thoil. (with your will/please.)”_

There. Her eyes softened, though he could see she was wrestling against it. So he tried again.

“Tah— um… shit.” His arms drooped.  _“Shit,_ wait— Tah broon…?”

She huffed at his effort, and a grin peeked through.

 _“Tá brón orm,”_ she corrected him, and stepped into his offered embrace.

 _“Tá brón orm,”_ he repeated dutifully, holding her tight. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry any of this happened. But we’re gonna fix it, okay? We’re gonna make it right.”

She squeezed him around the middle and sighed into his shirt. “No. You’re not,” she said. “I am.”

Stepping back from him, she left the kitchen and returned to the map room, Sam following close behind.

Cas leapt from the seat he’d taken. “I’m so sor—”

She held up a hand. He stopped.

She stood directly in front of him, her face set as she looked him right in the eye.

“Get it off.”

He placed two fingers to her forehead and removed his effects.

“Good,” she breathed, letting her eyes shut. “Good.”

She turned from him and marched back up the stairs toward the doorway. “Now if ye don’t much mind, I’m gonna go get me a handle a’ whiskey an’ lie down for the next century an’ a half.”

And before anyone could say anything more, she left the room again.

Sam sighed and went to follow her, but Cas spun to him. “Sam, I didn’t mean to hurt her, I only wanted to—”

“Look, Cas,” Sam cut his pleading short with a raised hand.  _“Jesus..._ I know we don’t usually have women living here but— you _have_ to see how not okay that was, right?”

“But you and Dean—”

“Would have been nice to know about that, too, actually.” He placed a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “I mean, thanks for making sure I didn’t go blind or anything, but you could have asked.”

Cas shrank, seeming suddenly uncomfortable with Sam’s hand on his shoulder, but Sam kept it firmly planted.

“Cas, it’s great that you heal us and keep us healthy— god knows where we’d be without you— but messing with people’s bodies like that is different. Fuck, especially with _Bris…”_ he gestured after her, “Cas, just think about it, she was… You _know_ what she’s been through the last few years.”

Cas's eyes flew wide. “The tracking spell…”

“What?”

“The tracking spell,” Cas repeated. He shook his head harshly, “Of _course_ that would upset her! How didn’t I—”

“Wait, wait—” Sam’s took his hand back from Cas’s shoulder. “Why of course?”

Cas shuffled on his feet, not meeting Sam's eye. “The spell was… hereditary.”

Sam gaped for a moment, now confronted with what that could actually entail. “What— Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“You didn’t want the details,” Cas was shaking his head again, “and the selkies were particularly upset when I informed _them...”_

“Yeah, ah, I can imagine,” Sam said, his eyes wide and darting. He shook himself to pull back from that horror. “So… _that,_ plus whatever else could have happened at that farm, so can’t you see how sensitive that stuff has to be for her?”

“I…” Cas looked down to his hands. “I should have.” They clenched into fists. “I do now.”

“Good,” Sam nodded. He scrubbed a hand over his chin. “Good. Now, look, I need to go find Bris, but— but I know you, don’t just beat yourself up about this. You know now, and it’ll take time, but you two will get past this, okay?”

Cas nodded weakly, still staring at his hands.

Sam sighed. “I know, Cas, just— Just stay out of the liquor cabinet, okay? Our cards won’t handle restocking it after you’ve had a shot at it.” He tried for a smile. Cas didn’t try to return it.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, “Cas, look—”

“You should find Bris,” Cas stopped him.

He should, but something in Cas’s expression gave him pause. “Cas—”

“Go.”

Sam looked him over carefully. “Cas, is something else wrong?”

He winced. “I just... I thought I was finally…” but he stopped, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. “It’s fine, Sam. Just go. She’s the one who’s been hurt.”

Sam stood there a moment longer, but Cas was right, he needed to find Bris sooner than later. “Alright,” he reluctantly agreed, and he turned to go.

Then an idea came to him. He faced Cas again, gesturing at the computer still on the table, “Hey, um, if you want, you could keep looking for omens about Gabriel for me. That would help a lot.”

Cas snapped up to meet his eye, “Yes, of course—” and he urgently took up Sam’s vacated chair.

Sam made it to the top the stairs this time before he turned back once more, one hand on the doorway. "Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?"

“Um, I know what I just said but... you should probably keep cleaning Dean’s heart.” He grimaced. “God knows he's never gonna start eating right.”

Cas sighed over the keyboard, slumping even lower, “Yes. He _is_ stubborn about that.”

That almost made Sam smile. He just chuffed through his nose and left to search for Bris.

He found her in their room, the promised bottle in hand as she paced across the floor, cursing in a blend of languages. Sam met her mid-stride and gently took the bottle from her, saying nothing to her half-hearted protests. He set it across the room and offered his arms again. Like before there was hesitation, but this time all Sam needed to do was wait for her, and he held her tight once again.

Soon she was pulling him to the bed, and she curled into his chest as he enveloped her in him, wrapping her body so much smaller than his in his warmth and his comfort.

And slowly, lulled with all the soft touches and the soft words he had to give, she fell asleep, finally breathing easier again.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

####  Sister Golden Hair 

_“Well I tried to make it Sunday, but I got so damn depressed,_  
_That I set my sights on Monday and I got myself undressed,_  
_I ain't ready for the altar, but I do agree there's times,_  
_When a woman sure can be a friend of mine...”_

 

Dean was desperate to find that routine again.

He tried doing what he'd done before, pretending to look for cases, but that didn't work at all. It was just so... tiring. And it was pointless. So he just kinda... stopped. He wasn’t sure when, exactly, but after a few days of slowly doing more and more staring and less and less reading, there came a day when he found that he had just... given up the endeavor entirely.

That day he'd found himself in his un-name-able, no-TV room, his laptop open, playing movie after movie after movie for hours on end... He slogged through file after file, watching favorite after favorite in the way he sometimes did on off days between hunts, but at the end of it all, he found that he wasn’t even sure what all he’d watched. So again, he just… stopped. There was a tiny part of him that was relieved to be free of the burden. There was a larger part that blanketed him in guilt over it.

Which must have been why he next tried throwing himself into all sorts of menial chores; things like reorganizing the kitchen cabinets, scrubbing the tables and counters, even straightening the books on the library shelves.

But he realized quickly that this came with its own hazard: that being out in the common areas like this, everyone kept trying to _talk_ to him. Well, everyone except for Sam.

There had been a couple of times, early on in the week when Gabriel’s disappearance was still raw on their minds, that Sam almost looked like he might say something. Might just say something, might explode, but either way was just barely holding himself back. But soon enough that disappeared, too, and Sam fell into simply avoiding him, basically pretending he wasn’t even there. It was obvious that he couldn’t even stand the sight of Dean, with the silence and the way he wouldn’t even look up at him anymore, so Dean kept his distance too, not wanting to make it worse.

And after what Dean had done... well... he didn’t blame Sam one bit.

But everyone else… god, they were awful. They just kept wanting to join him, kept wanting to _talk_ to him, but right now, that was the _last_ thing Dean wanted, so he ended up just sort of... not returning their conversation, and eventually they would stammer to a stop, or huff in indignance, and slowly, finally, everyone just left him alone.

Well, everyone except Cas.

Cas just kept trying, sitting with him at the table, or leaning up against the counter, or simply hovering nearby, and he would just. keep. talking. Whether purposefully or obliviously, he would just keep talking and _talking_ and _talking_ in that way that, if Dean were paying any attention at all, he would realize Cas really only did with him: unbroken, unwavering, and without any need for response.

He would talk about anything— everything— some old lore he had found that was _completely_ wrong, a particularly confusing article on the internet, updates on Gabriel, random-ass facts that Dean didn’t even know what had prompted him to share...

And it almost worked. It almost drew Dean back out the way it had a few days ago. Any other time, this probably would have worked like a charm. But now, Dean couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take Cas’s attentions focused on him. Couldn’t take that smile peeking around the corner of his lips. Couldn’t take those _damned_ eyes just _looking_ at him like that. Just _looking_ at him like… Looking at him like...

~~Like he was actually worth something.~~

So Dean searched for something else he could do. Something away from the main rooms. Away from everyone else.

Which was all how he got it in his head that he should clean the storeroom.

It had been damn near spotless after he and Cas had been through it what felt like forever ago, looking for clues on Sam’s cursed necklace, but as he walked down the hall he reasoned with himself that something might have moved since then, or someone could have gone in and made a mess, or something new might have shown up—

“Son of a _bitch.”_

Or everything could be exactly where it was before, as though they had ever touched a thing.

Dean gaped in the doorway. He walked in a few steps, gingerly picking up a small box.

“Son of a...”

Well... at least he didn't need an excuse anymore.

He set to work, throwing himself into it even as he grumbled at the _damned bunker_ and its _damned magic-y bullshit._ He shunted boxes this way and that, stacked loose items into some sort of piles, arranged the trinkets and baubles in what might have been a neat and organized display.

Soon though, Dean came to realize that he didn’t actually care what ended up where as he made his way through the shelves. He just needed to make the place at least _look_ like somebody gave a flying fuck what was going on in here. Just needed to _do something_ with his hands. Just needed to find an order. Or at least pretend to. So he continued his manic attack, almost comforted with the knowledge that this was all just bullshit he was putting on for… _someone’s_ benefit.

He was halfway through the assemblage of _bean-nighe_ cloaks when he found something that didn’t belong, something he didn’t remember from his last time going through all of this. It was oddly shaped, made of spotted, gray, flat fur...

*Damn it,* he grunted, and stood with it in his hand.  _“Bris!”_

He headed out of the storeroom, “Bris!”

“I hear ye, I hear ye!" she groused as she rounded the corner. "What're ye hollerin’ abo—? _Ach,_ damn it.”

“Yeah.” Dean held out her coat. “At least the storeroom was better than under the kitchen sink. Seriously, you’ve got the _entire_ bunker to work with, how are you so bad at hiding this thing?”

“Well I mean, on one hand," she said, "it’s sorta _meant_ to be found.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at that.

“Well not by _you!”_

He shook his head and gestured at the coat. “Why don’t you just... _give it_ to Sam?”

“Well, ‘cause…” she looked down at it, held loosely in her hands, “‘cause I don’t want to.”

“What?” Dean drew his chin back. “Why the hell not? You were ready to let _me_ have it after knowing me for about— _zero_ minutes.”

“Look, Dean... I don’t expect you to understand...”

His nose twitched with a wrinkle. “Oh. Well— Fine. Whatever,” he huffed, and turned back for the storeroom. “Just keep your creepy-ass man-catcher to yourself.”

“Tha’s _not—!”_ Bris started harshly. Dean winced and stopped. She took a breath and released it on a sigh. “That’s not what this is."

Dean turned back to face her fully.

“This is… this is _mine,_ Dean _._ This is literally a part a’ me. I give this to a spouse to tell ‘em that I’m _theirs—_ entirely, an’ without question. An’... well... that’s just not what I got with Sam.”

“It’s not,” Dean said skeptically, crossing his arms.

“No, with Sam…” she smiled fondly, “with Sam I’m not the only one givin’ ye know? I don’t _belong_ to him. I’m _with_ him. I’m right there next to him.”

Dean shifted his weight, glancing down at the coat. “Oh.”

“I mean— I been with so many people... I been married five times, Dean, an’ I thinks the only time it were almost like this were with Aoife.” She smiled again at nothing in particular, “Lord above, now she were really somethin’ else.”

He tilted his head, “She?”

 _“Tch._ Please, boy,” Bris scoffed, “you’re not the only one ‘round here what’s not picky.”

Dean blinked. "Ah," he said.

Suddenly that comment from when Bris first found them made a lot more sense.

She sighed and looked back down to the coat, “Look, the thing is… I don’t know what I did to deserve your brother, Dean. For a while there, when my own head were tellin’ me all sorts of lies, I really thought I didn't, but Sam is here tellin’ me otherwise, every day. He tells me with what he says, an’ what he do. Sam came along an’ he turned my world upside down, an’ now every day he’s makin’ me believe that I’m more than this damned thing.” She tucked the coat against her hip. “Every day we make this work, Fates and Purpose be damned. An’ it’s good, Dean, it's good. It sure as fuck ain’t perfect, but it’s good, jus’ like this. So I’m not givin’ him this. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever give this to anyone again. But, ah,” she looked at him sheepishly, tipping her head at the coat, “but I’m fuckin’ _hardwired_ to hide it _somewheres_ so... well... sorry ye have to keep findin’ it, there.”

“Hey, um… not a problem.” He uncrossed his arms and held up his palms. “You, uh… you do what you gotta do.”

That brought a smile to her face. “Thanks, Dean-o,” she said, bumping into his arm as she headed further down the hall. “Here’s hopin’ I don’t get lost down in here, right?”

“Uh— Right,” Dean tried to smile back, however weakly.

Absently rubbing his arm, he headed back to the storeroom, Bris’s words heavy on his mind as he took another stab at those cloaks.

 

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

Heaven was awful to rule.

Why on Dad’s green Earth had Michael ever wanted this? Why had Raphael ever wanted this? It was so mind-numbingly... _boring._  So awful he could almost understand why Gabriel had taken off.

The angels… They never had an idea of what should come next. They just carried on with their little tasks, rushing to and fro like little drones, no minds of their own, no _desires_ of their own.

It hadn't been like this before. When had his little brothers and sisters become so… so _boring?_

He had considered shaking things up, maybe start a little something with the demons like the old days, see how things played out from this side of the fence, get some practice in before the Other Michael showed up. But that idea had been quickly scrapped once he'd taken stock of what was actually available to him, maybe half a garrison of Seraphs, hardly enough to play with.

But that had gotten him curious, and so he'd decided to check around all of Heaven.

Either this place was a lot bigger than he remembered— and it was— or there were _way_ fewer angels than before— and there were.

No wonder everyone was so lame up here, they were all work and no play. No _time_ for play. A few score of angels were doing the work of the entire Host.

He scoffed at the methods of his brothers. He’d left them alone for a few eons and _this_ is what they’d done. The Angels should have been great, they should have been _ruling_ over Creation. But here they were, reduced to almost nothing because of some infighting over one of Dad’s stupider plotlines, because of some meddling _humans._ And now those who were left were just nickering back and forth like the _mice_ Michael had made them out to be.

Well, everyone except Anael.

Now _she…_ She was somethin’ else. Not as big on the bowing as he would have liked, but man was she _reverent._ But she also _wasn’t._ She was so many things all at once and it was just so darn… _interesting._

Anything he needed she was already on top of. Any trouble his little brothers and sisters were having she was already fixing it. When he started getting a little… you know, maybe a bit… _down_ about how things were going, she was right there, not even the slightest bit afraid to tell him off and whip him back into shape.

Not that he _needed_ that. It was just, you know, _nice._ Sometimes.

How an angel like her had slipped everyone’s notice he’d never know. Pushing a button his ass, she should have been leading _campaigns,_  running _divisions,_   _anything_ really. And that wasn’t just the grace talking, either. If there was one thing he was good at, it was recognizing talent. After all, you don’t rule Hell from the Cage without knowing how to effectively delegate.

And sure she was a _girl,_ but, boy, was she fantastic. Everything he could ever ask for in a second-in-command. And, yeah, okay, it certainly didn’t hurt that she tasted a lot better than any demon he’d ever made.

You know, now that he thought about it, maybe ruling Heaven wasn’t that bad. Maybe he could even turn this around. Sure, he couldn’t _actually_ make any new brothers or sisters, but maybe he could work with the ones he had. So the next time he saw Anael, he suggested they start training the angels he had left to fight.

“That’s actually not a terrible idea,” she answered. “You can’t start making any new angels until you’ve regained your strength anyway, so we should prepare for the oncoming war with what we’ve got in the meantime.”

“Now see _this,_ this is why I like you so much,” Lucifer grinned. “You take my great ideas and you make them sound even better. Really, what would I do without you?”

Anael just smirked at him and turned on her heel, leaving him on the throne while she went to do whatever needed to be done.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

Sam was in the bunker’s gym, the weather outside proving a bit cold for what had become his and Bris’s usual morning run. Bris had already finished her own workout already and gone for a shower, leaving Sam to stay behind a little longer to work on his own extra exercises.

He raised an arm and directed his focus on one of the weights, a smaller one, but larger than the one he'd used yesterday. It twitched, and slowly he raised his hand, the weight following into the air. He smiled, and put a little more into it, maneuvering the weight in a figure-eight pattern, swinging it higher and farther, getting a feel for how it sailed through the air at his command.

It was nice, being alone in the gym like this. This was basically the one room in the bunker Sam _knew_ Dean wouldn’t come, so he knew he could relax, could really explore his new ability. Yes, Dean already knew about this, or at least, he had some idea that these abilities existed, but his reaction back in Hell hadn’t exactly instilled confidence in Sam that Dean would take further _practice_ and _development_ very well at all.

Although... there was the fact that by some sort of miracle, the topic hadn’t come up again since then. Sam could only wonder whether Dean was _that_ angry about it, or if in all the commotion maybe he had honestly forgotten about it. There was a tiny part of him that hoped that Dean just... didn't care, but that part didn't receive much confidence from Sam.

Whatever the case was, Sam wasn’t about to make anything worse by _flaunting_  this in front of Dean. Things were fine right now, well, as fine as they could be, and they would _stay_ fine, as long as he kept this to himself and Bris, and as long as certain _other_ bunker residents held up their end of their deal.

Sam quickly shunted that from his mind, though, choosing instead to focus wholly on the weight in the air.

Between this and smaller, easier to hide things like practicing with that knife, he was now able to keep these exercises up for a good few minutes at a time, and was actually starting to feel a bit proud of himself for his improvements. _Was,_ that is, until today, when he was interrupted by a particular phone call.

Sam carefully let the weight come to rest on the floor as he pulled his ringing phone from his pocket. Upon seeing the name on the screen he rolled his eyes, but still answered.

“Hello, Rowena,” he sighed.

_“Well, goodness, don’t go gettin’ too excited, now.” _

“Sorry, I’ll try to be more _chipper_ next time I hear from someone who tricked us into helping Crowley retake Hell.”

_“I would have thought you’d be happy about that. Better the demon you know, and all.”_

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten about whatever you did to Dean—”

 _“‘Whatever we did’?”_ she interrupted.  _“He hasn’t told you?”_

Sam winced. “No, of course he’s told me—”

_“Oh, I miss that amulet already. Lyin' is not becoming on you, Samuel.”_

He let his eyes shut and tipped his head back to the ceiling. “What did you want, Rowena?”

He could hear her smug grin.  _“Have you been practicing like I said you should?”_

“Well, um, yeah, actually.” Sam glanced at the weight on the floor. “Since you said that I’ve been working on lifting larger things, keeping them in the air longer—”

“Oh yes, I see. And it’s doing  _wonders_ for your glutes.”

Sam spun, one hand unconsciously covering his ass, to see Rowena tucking her phone away into a pocket in her dress, a smirk curling her bright red lips.

“What—? How do you keep getting past my warding?”

“Please,” she rolled her eyes at him. “Suffice it to say I know where to look for the loopholes. And so would you,” she gave him a reproachful look, “if you were doin’ the _right_ kind a’ practice.”

“What?” Sam looked again to the weight he had been levitating. “What else would I do? I’ve got telekinesis.”

“Well, first of all, you’re sellin’ yourself short there. I didn’t go through all that work just so you could do _party tricks,”_ she said, waving a sarcastic hand.

Sam looked back to her, a cautious eyebrow raised. “What else do you think I can do?”

“Oh all _sorts_ of things, I’m sure,” she grinned. “Like I said, you’ve got a natural talent.”

“You keep saying that, but I really don’t know what you mean.”

“What I _mean,_ Sam, is that I’m fairly certain that I’m lookin’ at a fine example of a potential witch right here.”

Sam flinched at that word, sure he'd heard her wrong. But as she continued to leer at him, he recoiling from her, insisting, “I’m _not_ a witch.”

“‘Course you’re not, not yet.”

“I’m not making any deal with a demon.”

Rowena rolled her eyes. “A _natural-born_ witch, Sam, not a Borrower,” she clarified alongside a long-suffering sigh.

Sam’s eyes drifted to the floor.

“That demon blood in your veins was turnin’ things all sorts of ways inside’a you,” Rowena continued, prompted by his hesitation, “but now I can feel what you were always meant to be: Not a tool of any demon or devil, but a proper witch with a power that comes from no one but you, a power that only _you_ control.”

His eyes leapt to hers, only to be met with a thick, self-satisfied smirk on her face at his reaction. He twitched with a grimace and looked away again.

“I don’t need power, Rowena.”

She rolled her eyes at him again, “You goody-two-shoes types, always with the limitations! There’s always room for growth, ya stubborn lunk!” She spread her hands wide, “Just _think,_ Sam! With a little support, a little guidance, you and I could take on just about anythin’! Or even… any _one.”_

He met her eyes again, burning with a righteous fire that threatened to spark him as well.

But he dropped his gaze.

“No.”

"What—?  _'_ _No’?”_

 _“No,”_ Sam clenched his fists, “I’m not doing that again. I’ll help you, Rowena, of course I will, but I’m not doing that.”

“Again? But, Sam, you—”

“I said no!” Sam shouted, causing her to flinch. “I did that once, I took all the damn power I could get, and it almost cost me _everything!_ This ability is one thing—” he tossed a hand and sent a small weight tumbling across the floor, “—but fucking _witchcraft_ —”

“Oh come _on,_ Sam, you already _do_ magic—”

“This is _completely_ different! I can’t—”

“Of course you can—”

_“Then I won’t!”_

Rowena fell back a step from him now towering above her.

“I’m sorry— I—" Sam quickly drew back, "You see, Rowena? I can’t. I can’t handle that. Trust me, you don’t want to give me that, I’m not strong enough for it.”

Her mouth hung open for a moment before she shut it and looked at him hard. “And here I thought that necklace had done its job.”

“It did,” Sam countered, “and I’m not gonna fuck that up with this.”

Rowena balked at him, her jaw dropping, “Is _that_ what you think of witchcraft, boy? Is that what you think of _me?”_

“Come on, Rowena, you’re not exactly a shining example of a role-model.”

She drew herself up to her full height, dropping her fists to her sides. “You _dirty_ hypocrite," she seethed. "I’ve been _survivin’_ all these years, doin’ the best I could with what I had. Thought you of all people would understand that.” She tilted her head back, and looked down her nose at him. “Maybe I made the wrong choice when I decided to help you.”

Sam’s face darkened again, “Save it, Rowena, you’re not gonna _guilt_ me into this. You owed me, and now we’re even. And now I’m telling you no, and I’m telling you that you should leave.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but took another step back.

“Call me when you get off that high horse of yours, Samuel, when you’re ready to actually _do_ somethin’ ‘bout that bullshit holdin’ ya back.”

And she vanished, leaving Sam on his own again.

Or at least, that was what he thought. If he hadn't been so worked up, Sam probably would have heard the footsteps retreating sharply down the hall in the opposite direction as he left the gym to head for the showers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Tá brón orm_ = There is sadness on me, I am a saddened person / I'm sorry
> 
> -
> 
> Hey look, it’s the first intermission! There are three total (I know bro, but this story is four fics in a trenchcoat).  
> So go get some water, make sure your homework is done, did you pay that bill you meant to pay? Yeah? All good? Well okay then, off we go!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt your regularly scheduled heartbreak for a filler episode!  
> Wait… Oh… I’ve been informed there’s heartbreak here, too. Whoops. Sorry.

The next Monday, Sam got a call out of Sioux Falls as he sat in the library _—_  apparently Jody was having some trouble in her local waterways.

Sam put the phone on speaker so the others could hear her explain.

_“I’ve got something eating people in my river, and a little bird with an attitude problem told me that you guys are the new resident experts on water monsters.”_

_“I don’t have an attitude problem!”_ they heard in the background.

Jody sighed, _"So how soon can you all get here?”_

Sam did some quick math in his head. “Well, if we left right away, we could probably get there by tonight.”

_“Great! I’ll make dinner!”_

*Yes…* Sam softly cheered.

 _“Oh, hey,_ _also_ , _I had to find out from_ _Claire_ _through Cas_ _that you have a freaking girlfriend now? What the hell, Winchester?”_

Sam winced and glanced at Bris, “Sorry, Jody.”

_“You just make sure to bring her, too, or I’ll really have to whoop your ass. See you tonight, boys.”_

“See ya, Jody, bye.”

Bris smirked as Sam hung up, “I like her.”

“You’re gonna like all of them,” he said as he rolled his eyes. Then he frowned, “I should probably be worried about that.”

“I’ll tell Dean we’re leaving soon,” Cas said from where he stood across the table.

“I heard, Cas,” Dean grumbled from the other end of the library.

“Oh.”

Sam glanced to his side where Direl was standing, practically bouncing on his toes and clearly biting his tongue.

Sam sighed. “Would you like to come, too, Direl?”

He pursed his lips in sarcastic thought. “Well I’ll have to see if I can clear my schedule…”

“Dear god, you’re as bad as Gabriel.”

“Well come _on,_ Sam! A’course I’d loves to see a new place!”

“Fine. Great. Can we try to leave in an hour?” Sam raised his voice to ensure Dean heard him, too.

He got some shrugs and nods in response.

“Good. We should probably pack heavy, who knows what we’re going to find up there.”

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

It took longer than an hour for everyone to get down to the garage, but soon enough they were all piled into the car—

 _“Damn it, Bris, how is the_ _trunk_ _a good hiding spot?”_ _  
_ _“How was I s’posed to know we’d be havin’ a trip?”_

—and headed north through Nebraska, the never-ending cornfields lulling the group into a warm quiet.

The constant music certainly helped too, as this time Dean was taking no chances, having picked out hours worth of tapes before they’d even left the garage.

When they stopped for gas, only Sam went into the convenience store to get anything. Dean tried to ignore the crestfallen look that clouded Cas’s face the rest of the way to Sioux Falls after that; he wasn’t all that successful, but he tried.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

They arrived at Jody’s in the evening, able to smell dinner before they’d even reached the snow-covered stoop. Behind the group, Dean glowered at the sky, as if _daring_ it to drop any more white bullshit on his Baby.

Sam and Bris ended up at the door first, and Sam practically leapt to give Jody a huge hug.

“Hi, Jody! God, it’s been too long!”

“What, that mess with the portal didn’t count?” she said as she pulled back. “Besides, I’m only six hours away, you don’t always have to wait for dead people as an excuse to come see me.”

“Oh, um—” Sam ducked his head a little. He inhaled and reached back to pull Bris forward. “Here! Ah— This is Bris, my um... ‘mow haleen’,” he tried with a proud smile.

“What?” Jody raised an eyebrow.

 _“Mo chailín._ Harder on the _‘kchh’_ there, love,” Bris corrected kindly. She stepped up past Jody’s outstretched hand to hug her, too. “He jus' means I'm his mot,” she smiled as they parted.

“Oh. Sure. That clears it up,” Jody blinked with her eyebrows raised.

Direl entered after them, but stopped in his tracks in the doorway. “My _stars,"_ he exclaimed, "is every woman you lot know the spittin’ image a’ beauty?”

“Oh—! Well—!” Jody sputtered.

He stepped for ward and took her hand, bending down to kiss it.  _“Dia dhuit,_ I’m Direl, Bris’s cousin.”

“I— Well— Nice to meet you, Direl.”

With an unfairly charming smile he stepped aside so Dean and Cas could enter. They each gave Jody their hugs with far less dramatic greetings.

“Are they here yet? Is that them?” came a voice from the stairs.

 _“Yes_ already,” Jody called back. “Come here and say h—”

A blonde blur rushed down the stairs, and Claire crashed into Cas for a hug, practically bouncing with a suppressed run, “Hi, Cas!”

“Hello, Claire,” he answered, looking down at her with a smile.

“God, you haven’t been here in forever!” she said with an extra squeeze, then jumped over to Dean to hug him just as tightly.

“Oh— Hey, kid.” Dean hugged her back, caught a little off guard.

Alex and Patience, summoned by the noise of guests, also came down and stood at the base of the stairs. “Hey, guys,” Alex nodded. Patience waved.

 _“Oh!”_ Bris cooed at the sight of them. “Yeh’ve got so many beautiful wee ones!”

Claire turned to the new voice and gasped. She ran over to Bris, and both their eyes flew wide.

“I _love_ your hair!” they shouted together.

“Can I braid it?” Claire asked immediately.

“Eff yeah, ye can!”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Jody cut in, _“after_ dinner.” She raised her voice to address the small army in her living room. “Alright, folks, dinner is almost ready, so get your butts to the table! Who wants drinks?”

“Oh, right! We brought ye somethin’!” Bris piped up. She pulled a bottle out of the slender bag she was holding.

“Oh! Whiskey!” Jody said, a little strained.

Bris’s face fell, “I’m sorry, do ye not drink?”

“Oh, no! No, it’s just that I don’t keep hard liquor in the house anymore. _Someone_ keeps sneaking off with it,” she looked pointedly at Alex and Patience.

“I keep telling you, don’t look at me, I can’t get caught drunk at work,” Alex said.

“No, but you know who’s doing it,” Jody scolded. “I swear they’ve got a little covenant of secrecy going,” she said, shaking her head. “We’ll just have to make sure it’s all gone before you leave.”

“Fierce!” Bris and Direl exclaimed.

“Alright, I’m gonna need help setting the table, so _come on,_ everyone!” she ordered them, and the crowd followed Jody to the dining room.

———

Once dinner was out and everyone was squeezed around the table, conversation picked up as one would expect. They started with the usual: _how’s work, any good cases lately,_ but then Patience asked the question Sam and Bris should really have been expecting.

“So, how did you guys meet?” she asked them.

Sam froze, his fork halfway to his mouth.

But Bris was ready to launch into it, “Lord above, ye see I were—”

Sam’s hand shot out to her knee and stopped her.

Alex raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Well it’s either online or a one-night-stand from that reaction.”

“Alex!” Jody scolded.

 _“It was—”_ Sam cleared his throat. “It was on a _case._ We met on a case, that’s all.”

Alex, Patience, and Claire turned to each other. “One-night-stand,” they declared with a nod.

Sam sputtered something unintelligible, reaching out to fiddle with his glass of wine. Bris looked over at him, and her eyes softened.

She leaned forward in her seat. “This here grub is amazin’,” she said up the table to Jody, gesturing at her meal. “Could I get yer recipe?”

Jody didn’t even flinch at the obvious deflection. “Sure you can,” she said back with a grin, “if you’ve got one to trade.”

“Well I only been cookin’ a century an’ a half, I think I could scrounge one up.”

Jody stared at her.

“Oh. Right,” Claire winced. “I forgot to mention she’s a selkie.”

Jody nodded, wide-eyed. “Sure. Yeah. That clears things up.”

Cas immediately leaned forward over his empty plate to explain the finer points of the selkie lifespan to her, thus leaving Sam and Bris blissfully reprieved.

Sam sighed in relief. He turned to Bris to thank her, but found her and Direl now frowning into the distance. They simultaneously turned to look out the dark front window.

*D’you hear that?* Direl whispered to Bris.

*Yeah,* she nodded. *Started feelin’ it a while ago, but now it’s comin’ right for us. Lord above, might just be as loud as Dean-o!*

*Hey, what’s up, guys?* Sam asked them.

A set of headlights moved across the house.

*Looks like we’ll see in a minute,* Bris answered him.

Someone stomped their boots on the porch, and they heard the front door open.

 _“Crimeny,_ sorry I’m late!” the new visitor shouted into the house.

“We started without you!” Jody called back. “Hurry up and get in here!”

“Well hold your horses, now, I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” said the guest. They heard them hang up their coat, loudly sloughing off their shoes and hurrying over from the living room—

And Donna rushed in, a huge smile on her face.

“Oh, look at that!” she beamed. “Don’t know if we’ve ever had this many people in here!” Her uniform was covered in dirt and salt stains and her hair was a mess from the wind outside.

“Looks like _you_ had a heck of a day,” Jody said.

“Boy howdy, I sure did!” she chuckled, and started taking down her ponytail. “Wouldn’t ya know it, some drunkard went and decided to climb our water tower again! And of course  _I_ had to be the one to wrangle him when he went and decided to hoof it out on to—”

She stopped.

“—Seventh Avenue...”

She had caught sight of Direl, who was blatantly staring back at her, jaw agape.

“Hey, ah, a newbie!” she smiled, one hand still halfway through shaking out her hair. “And you are?”

“Struck dumb,” Direl managed.

Donna huffed through her widening smile. “Well now, that kinda flattery is gonna get you everywhere, mister.”

“Hey, come on, get a plate and sit down!” Jody gestured at the empty chair at the table. It just so happened to be right across from Direl.

She gave him a quick smile as she sat. “I’m Donna,” she said.

“Direl,” he answered dreamily.

 

———

 

####  **Head Full of Doubt, Road Full of Promise**

_“...When nothing is owed, or deserved, or expected,_  
_And your life doesn’t change by the man that’s elected,_  
_If you’re loved by someone, you’re never rejected,  
Decide what to be, and go be it,_

 _There was a dream, and one day I could see it,_  
_Like a bird in a cage I broke in and demanded that somebody free it,_  
_And there was a kid, with her head full of doubt,  
So I’ll scream ‘til I die and the last of those bad thoughts are finally out…”_

 

As they were cleaning up after dinner, Dean found himself under intense scrutiny.

“What?” he tried not to snap, feeling the pressure of Jody’s stink-eye.

She set the plates she was carrying on the kitchen counter, and leaned against it to face Dean, arms crossed. “You’ve been doing that thing you do again.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you don’t talk to anyone.”

A few people came in with their loads of plates and leftovers. They waited for them to leave to continue.

“I talk to people,” Dean defended.

“Haven’t said more than a handful of words all night, but that’s not what I mean.”

Dean opened the dishwasher and started loading it haphazardly. “Don’t have anything to talk about.”

Jody looked down at the mess he was making of it and sighed. “I swear, it’s like you’ve never seen a dishwasher in your life.” She crouched down and started rearranging the plates.

“I mean… We don’t have one at the bunker. And we sure never did _before_ that.”

Jody paused with a plate in hand and looked up at him with kinder eyes. “Right, well, let me show you, then.”

“Isn’t it fine how it is?”

“No,” she said simply.

Dean frowned and stood to leave, “I’ll just find something else—”

“Dean.”

He turned back to find her looking at him sternly.

“Look, Jody…” he ran a hand over his face. “I’m dealing with it, alright?”

“Obviously you’re not. Have you even _tried_ talking to anybody?”

“I don’t—” he let his eyes fall shut, “I don’t need to _talk_ to anybody. I’m fine. I’m dealing with it.”

She inhaled, and Dean could see he was really in for it this time, but before she could say anything her eyes shifted behind him. “Need something, Claire?”

Dean turned again and Claire was beside him, looking up to him, “Hey, um, are you done helping Jody?”

“Uh... yeah,” he answered lamely. She wasn’t nearly as bubbly as she had been just a short while ago. “Yeah, sure, what’s up?”

“Do you maybe... have a minute?”

“For you? ‘Course I do,” he tried for a smile.

“Great. Um...” She abruptly turned and left.

He followed Claire out of the kitchen, glancing back at Jody, but she could only shrug.

Claire went straight to the front door and started putting on her coat. Dean didn’t question it, getting his own and following her out to the porch.

She brushed away the salt on the steps and sat down. Dean followed suit.

 _“I, um—”_ she squeaked. She cleared her throat, “Look, I, um… I kinda…” She took a deep breath and faced Dean. “Could I tell you something?”

Her tone piqued his concern. “Yeah, of course you can, Claire. You can tell me anything.”

“Okay. Well, I, um... Well…” She sighed in frustration. “Damn it! I don’t know if I should talk this out or just, like, _bleh,_ say it!”

Dean shrugged, “What’s easier for you?”

“Throwing up.”

He huffed, and put an arm around her shoulders to pull her in for a hug. She leaned into it and took a deep breath.

“Okay. Okay.” She turned up to face him and locked his eyes. “I think I might be a lesbian.”

Dean just stared back. He might have forgotten how to breathe.

“I'm bi,” he blurted.

Claire gave him a funny look, “Yeah, I know, that's why I'm talking to you about this.”

Dean managed to blink. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? Is it supposed to be a secret?”

“Well, I— I mean…”

“Yeah, no, you’re like, really obvious about it.”

Dean continued to blink. “Oh,” he said.

“Yeah.” Her eyes dropped to the sidewalk in front of them.

Dean shook himself a little, trying to pull himself back together. “So, um, what… what makes you think you’re…”

“Lesbian.”

“Yeah.”

“Well probably that I think I like girls.”

“Oh.”

They just stared at each other again.

“Okay, look— Claire—” Dean held up his palm, “I swear, I wanna help, but I'm no good at this shit. You mind if I phone a friend on this?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are they cool? Like, not a dick?”

“Actually. I think you two would get along great.” He thought about that. “Or horribly. No in-between.”

“Fine, um, if you think they can help, then yeah, go ahead I guess.”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief and pulled out his phone, putting the call on speaker.

_“Deeaan, what's up, my man?”_

“Hey, Max, not much. Just—”

 _“Hey, hey, hey, how’d that Hell thing go?”_ Max interrupted with an audible smile.  _“You said you’d tell me about it last time you called! It’s been weeks, man, I was startin’ to think you didn’t make it!”_

“Yeah,” Dean huffed in return, “I, um, I’ll tell you later, okay? I was hoping… I kinda have someone here who could probably talk to you.”

 _“Yeah?”_ Max chuckled.  _“Lemme guess, another crisis?”_

*Hey,* Claire bristled, *I thought you said he wasn’t a dick.*

_“Shit— Dean, am I on speaker? Ah, man, you gotta warn a guy—!”_

“Sorry! Sorry.” Dean mentally kicked himself. “Look, um, this is Claire. Claire, this is Max Banes, he’s another hunter.”

 _“Hunter, and apparently Official Therapist to the Winchesters_.”

Claire tipped her head. *But I'm not a—*

*‘Course you are, shut up,* Dean bumped into her.

 _“So, lemme guess, sweetheart,”_ Max continued boisterously, _“you wanna join the Crazy Club, don’t you?”_

“Whoa-whoa-whoa, hey! It’s not a crazy club!” Dean said hurriedly, spinning to Claire with wide eyes. “It’s not a crazy club, it’s a normal club.”

 _“Right. I’m sorry. It’s a normal club full of normal people,”_ Max said, his sarcasm blatant.

“Dean, maybe this wasn’t a good idea…” Claire started.

 _“Hey, wait a minute,”_ Max’s tone shifted.  _“How old are you, hun?”_

“Um… I’m… twenty-one?” Claire looked to Dean with an eyebrow raised and he kicked himself again.

Max sighed, and was quiet for a moment.  _“Hey, I’m sorry, can we try again? You start. What’s eatin’ you?”_

“Um— okay. Well,” Claire picked up a lock of her hair, fiddling with it as she looked between the phone and Dean, “I... think I might be a lesbian.”

_“Mm. Sounds like you’re not so sure.”_

“I… No.”

_“Well, like I told Dean, here, thinking is good enough to count, if that’s what you want.”_

“But, see, I don’t know if I… There’s just one girl…”

Certain memories clicked into place for Dean and he turned to Claire. *Kaia?* he mouthed.

She nodded, and Dean brought his arm up to squeeze her shoulders again.

 _“Alright…”_ Max said slowly. _“Why don’t you tell me about her.”_

“Well she... Well when we met... Okay— so when we met, things were pretty crazy, for both of us, right? But when I was with her, things were okay for a little bit.” A smile crept onto her face, and Dean couldn’t help but mirror it. “And she was, like, kinda shy, but also just really… _wow..._ And then, she took my hand, okay? And everything just _exploded!_ And when she smiled at me, it just sent my _everything_ into awesome-crazy mode, you know?”

_“Oh, believe me, I do.”_

*Well that’s one of us,* Dean mumbled.

“But see— Shit,” Claire shook her head, “I mean, I _think_ I’ve had crushes before. Maybe. But the thing is— for all I know she was _straight_ so all of this might be—”

_“Wait, wait, was? Are we not seeing her anymore?”_

“She…” Claire trailed off, answering quietly, “we were on a case and she... she didn’t make it back.”

Max was quiet for a moment. He sighed.  _“I'm so sorry, honey.”_

“Yeah… Me too.”

 _“But… look. Putting aside for a minute how she might have felt, what_ _you_ _felt was real.”_

“I've just… I've never…”

_“Sometimes it just takes the right person. Sometimes this is slow and sometimes it's all at once, right, Dean?”_

He squeezed Claire again with a smile, “Yeah.”

 _“And you know what else?"_  Max continued. _"This shit can change over time. Maybe you were only into dudes before, and now you're only into ladies. Or maybe you weren't actually into those guys you thought you were crushing on— that's ridiculously common for lesbians, I'll tell you what. But later on down the road here, you might realize you’re actually into both. Or any. Or none! Or maybe you’ll end up switching all around in there, ‘cause there are very literally __no_ _rules_ _to this stuff. We’ve got words for it all but there’s no barriers in between. You can just do you, and you can just do what makes you happy.”_

Claire nodded, wide-eyed at what Max was saying, but then her brow furrowed. “So… but… But if I don’t know... won’t that just confuse people?”

_“The people that matter will support you through it all, no matter what word you might pick. Or might not pick. There’s always just ‘queer’ if you want it.” _

“Oh,” Claire said thoughtfully. “Huh.”

_“Look, I can’t tell you if you’re a lesbian, honey, but I can tell you that what you felt was real, that what you feel is real, and that you can give yourself time to figure it out, and that there is no need— at all— to force it one way or the other.” _

Claire looked out into the snowy front yard, that small smile returning to her face. “Oh. Okay.”

_“Feelin’ a little better about the whole thing?”_

“Yeah, I think I am.”

_“Great! Welcome to the Normal Club.”_

Claire snorted as Dean hugged her again.

_“Hey, how about you ask Dean here for my number, and you can hit me up whenever you need anythin’, okay, hun?”_

“Yeah, okay.”

_“Alright, you two stay out of trouble now, you hear?”_

Dean rolled his eyes, “Yeah, okay, Mom.”

_“Hey, I’ll take it. Somebody’s gotta watch out for you crazy Winchesters. Talk to you later, Dean.”_

“Bye, Max.” He hung up and tucked the phone back in his pocket, turning to Claire. “So.”

“So.”

“How you feelin’?”

“Better. I don’t wanna throw up anymore,” she leaned against him, “and everything isn’t crashing down around me.”

“Good,” Dean sighed in relief, “that’s good.”

They sat a little while longer on the porch, letting it all sink in.

It was Dean who stood first, “Boy, I dunno about you, but I could use a drink.”

“Oh my god, yes.” Claire jumped up after him.

Dean raised an eyebrow at her, “No, see, I was joking about you.”

“What? I’m twenty-one! It’s legal for me now!”

“I know, I know,” he sighed, “you’re just— makin’ me feel all old.”

“You _are_ all old.”

“Shut up,” he said, playfully shoving her.

“You shut up!” she shoved him right back.

Dean looked in the front window where he could see that everyone had gathered in the living room. “Guess we shouldn’t ditch everyone tonight, though.”

“Where else would we go?”

“Nowhere. Come on, I’ll sneak you some of that whiskey that Bris brought.”

“Please, I’ve got my own in my room.”

Dean gave her a worried look.

“What!”

“Nothin', just, ah, remembering my own days of secret whiskey.”

_“Back in myyy dayyy—”_

Dean rolled his eyes and shoved her again, “Come on, I promise the stuff we got is way better than secret whiskey.”

 _“Fine,”_ she sighed with a smile, and together they reentered the warmth of the house.

 

———

 

The rest of the night passed in a calm glow, no doubt aided by that whiskey.

Claire finally got to Bris’s hair, giving one side of her head a series of beautiful Dutch braids. Bris was delighted, and she couldn’t wait to show them off to Sam.

Alex sat by Claire as Bris left and pointed over at the two of them. “You know you owe me twenty bucks, right?”

“What? No way!” Claire protested. “He could still break up with her! He and Jody could still get together!”

Alex looked pointedly back to Sam, who was now reverently running his hand over Bris’s braids and down through her loose hair. The look in his eyes said it all.

“Damn it, here,” Claire relented, and handed over a bill.

Sam was pulled from his admiration of Claire’s work by Direl’s elbow colliding with his ribs.

“Ow! _What?"_

“Okay now, lad,” Direl said as he leaned in, “is _she_ single?”

Sam looked where he was pointing, over to where Jody and Donna were sitting on the couch talking. He didn’t know which one he meant, but his answer was the same for either.

“I actually don’t know,” he said with a small frown.

Donna caught Direl’s look and got up with a smile to make her way over to him. As she left, Jody leaned over to Dean sitting in the chair next to her. “She’s somethin’ special, isn’t she?””

“Huh?” Dean said, popping up from his drink.

“That Bris,” she clarified, “Sam sure looks happy.”

Dean followed her gesture to where Bris and Sam were standing, now talking to Patience.

“Oh— yeah—” he agreed quickly, “yeah, I bet she’ll take real good care of Sam when I’m gone.”

Jody’s face creased with concern.

“I mean, you know, in case,” Dean backpedaled. “In case something happens. Not exactly the safest line of work, Jody.”

Her frown deepened, but she just went back to looking at Sam and Bris.

“So there’s this insanely bright light and all these people around and everything is just so _loud,”_ Patience was saying to Sam and Bris. “I’m still trying to figure it out, but maybe it’s just like, my version of a migraine, you know?” She shrugged.

Sam shrugged in return, “Wish I could help, but when I was still having visions I never had anything like that. Sorry.”

“Darn. Well thanks anyway,” she said, and left for another soda.

Sam saw Dean and Jody looking at them and leaned back over to Bris. “Hey, remember how I told you Cas was worried about Dean?”

“Aye,” she answered, though her mood was suddenly soured.

“Sorry, just— Dean looks fine now. I just wonder what he was talking about.”

“Heck if I knows. Told ya already, can’t make heads or tails of what’s goin’ on inside that one.”

“Right. Hey, I’m sorry, we can talk about something else, okay?”

She smiled and trailed a finger through his hair, “Hows about whether I should have Claire teach me how these braids work so’s I can give _your_ hair a do?”

Sam tensed. “Braids?” 

“Yeah? What, you afraid of a few twists in yer hair? ‘Fraid we might mistake ya fer a wee lass, there?” she teased.

Sam rolled his eyes and chuckled, squeezing his arm around her waist. “You know what, sure. If it makes you happy, why not?”

She pinched his side and scrunched her nose at him, “You’re too good to me, you knows that?”

He did his best to hide his flinch. “Hey, you started it,” he said, and dropped a quick kiss to her temple.

Across the room, Cas caught the way that Bris’s face had fallen when she glanced at him. He followed her shifted gaze to look over at Dean, now chuckling at something Claire said as she went to sit by to him.

Cas had been so wrong. So wrong about so much.

Nobody caught his gaze to anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Mo chailín_ "Mo kCHa-leen" = my girlfriend, my sweetheart. Literally: "my girl"  
>  _Dia dhuit_ "dJee-a hrit" (my god that is a hard one to transliterate) = hello. Literally: "God to you." (The typical response being _Dia is Muire duit,_ God and Mary to you.) _(I see your God and I raise you a Virgin! Ha! Now what, fecker!?)_


	6. Chapter 6

The next day at the breakfast table, after Alex had left for work and Patience left for some classes she was taking at the community college, Jody gave everyone else the run-down of what all had been going down in Sioux Falls.

“Unfortunately I don’t have much to go on,” she started, “for weeks now we’ve been finding these boats on the river. They’re perfectly fine, full of gas, still even have all the person's supplies in 'em, and then I've got these _body parts,_ washing up on the shore.”

Looks were exchanged across the table.

“Well that sure sounds like afancs," said Sam.

Claire’s eyes flashed wide. 

“Come on, how would they get all the way over here?” Dean grumbled.

“They’ve had a few months, perhaps some of them didn’t stay in Illinois,” offered Cas. “Perhaps they’ve been searching for territory of their own.”

Dean gave a half-hearted shrug and looked away.

But Direl spoke up, “Ain’t no afanc ever left a part behind.”

“We only ever met the ones in our lake,” said Bris. “Maybe these ones are sloppy.”

“No wait, Direl’s got a point,” Sam said, a hand on his chin. “Small details like that have tripped us up before. We should do some research before we rush into this.”

Cas nodded. Dean huffed.

“What?” Sam asked Dean.

“Nothing,” Dean said. He turned to Jody, “You got any witnesses?”

“Just one guy who said he heard screams in the night,” Jody sighed. “Not much to go on. Not much of anything anywhere. I mean, that’s why I called you in the first place.”

“Right, sure,” Dean nodded. “How about I take Claire, we’ll go interview the witness, and you nerds can do your research. ”

Claire perked up while Sam glowered at Dean.

Jody looked between Claire and Dean, “You sure?”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Yeah, I'm sure. Just give me the name of this guy and we'll take care of it.”

Cas leaned forward in his seat, “Do you need help with the interview?” he asked.

“Nah, not this time. Just gonna be me and Claire on this,” he nudged her with a smile and she beamed back. 

Cas sat back in his chair as Jody gave Dean the witness’s information.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

While Dean and Claire went off on their own, everyone else headed down to the police station.

Jody still had to attend to the tribulations of her precinct, so she found them a conference room to set up in. While she was off slogging through office politics, Sam, Bris, Direl, and Cas gathered around Sam’s laptop.

“Well, nothing new has surfaced about afancs since we last saw them,” Sam lamented. “You guys know what else could have escaped from that farm?” he asked Bris and Direl.

They shrugged.

“Great. So we just have to find a monster that takes people from boats, but doesn’t swallow them whole. And it could be… literally anything.” He slumped over his keyboard. “And Dean is off interviewing what he _has_ to know is a useless witness. Not that he’d be any help if he were _here._ He’d just complain that there were no bodies—”

“No, wait,” Cas perked up. “There _are_ body parts left behind.”

“Yeah?” Then Sam sat up, too. “Oh yeah!”

They hurried out to ask Jody to show them the parts.

She raised an eyebrow as she pulled out the drawer, “You guys are getting sloppy, I thought you’d want that first.”

Cas snatched up a lower leg and closely inspected the bite marks. He frowned and picked up a hand.

“Seeing anything, Cas?” Sam asked.

“Well," Cas frowned at the hand, "these wounds are clearly made by a creature with long, sharp teeth and a tremendous bite force, but it isn’t evident exactly what creature that might be.”

Sam sighed. “That’s okay, Cas, not everything can be giant leeches.”

“But that still helps, don’t it?” Direl piped up. “Now we knows we’re lookin’ fer a beastie with nasty teeth.”

“Hey, yeah, it does.” Sam clapped Cas on the shoulder as he turned to leave. “Good call, Cas.”

Cas stood a little straighter as they returned to the conference room, unknowingly headed back for countless hours of fruitless research.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Dean parked the Impala in front of a place called the One Foot Inn. Claire appraised it cautiously as they approached.

"So we’re meeting our witness here?” she asked as they entered.

 _“Tch,_ no," Dean scoffed as he led them through the meager crowd in the bar. "Jody got all she’s gonna get outta that kind of witness.”

They took up two stools at the counter. Dean waved over the bartender and ordered a few fingers of Jack. Claire hurriedly dug out her ID and ordered a beer.

Dean raised an eyebrow, “You like that stuff?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?”

“I dunno, had you pegged as a cocktail girl.”

“Ugh, seriously?” Claire balked. “No. I don't do those kinda girly drinks.”

“Please, everyone likes a good Metropolitain.”

She frowned at her beer as it was delivered, then looked over her shoulder into the barroom. “So if we’re not here for the witness, why are we here? Shouldn’t we be trying to figure out what the monster is?”

“It’s obviously afancs," Dean huffed, "it’s just gonna take Sam hours to figure that out. No, you and I...” Dean clinked his glass against her bottle, “...are here for some field research.”

“...Field research?”

Dean spun his stool and pointed with his glass across the room, “Check it out, one o’clock, she’s a sweet piece, right?”

 _“What?”_ Claire flipped to follow where Dean was pointing.

“Oh, hey, she's even got a nice rack.”

“Oh my god, _ew,_ stop.”

“What? You don't want some help?”

“Help? I thought Max said I don’t have to rush it!”

“And you don’t. But the best wingman in the world is in town, so you might wanna take advantage of that while you can.” He winked at her. “I mean, she seems nice enough, right?”

Claire rolled her eyes, “How are we supposed to tell if someone’s ‘nice’ from looking at their chest?” 

The corner of Dean's mouth tipped up with a hum. “Sounds like a question for Bris," he said over a sip of his drink. "Look, I'm just gettin' a vibe off her, take it or leave it.”

 _"Ugh,_ you're ridiculous," she sighed at him. Though she did look out at the woman again. She finally took a sip from her own bottle and gave a half-hearted shrug. “Besides, her ass is clearly the main dish.”

Dean stole another look of his own. _“Yeah,_ you're right," he tipped his head in resignation.

Claire’s glance turned nervous. “Should I… should I go talk to her?”

“Whoa there, hold your horses, we don't even know if she swings your way yet. And, really, you don’t have to talk to anyone today if you don’t want to. We could just window shop. Or— you know—” he waggled his eyebrows, “you could always be _my_ wingman.”

“Oh, _ew,_ no, I am _not_ gonna help you get laid!" she giggled, giving him a shove.

Dean just smiled and slung an arm around her shoulders.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

That evening, Donna joined the group when they ended up back at Jody’s house. They gathered in the living room to discuss the case as Jody bounced around in the kitchen.

“Qalupaliks are indigenous just north of here,” Sam tried, listing off yet another creature from his ever-growing list of possibilities.

 _“Oofta,”_ Donna grimaced, “I ran inta one a’ those once, way up a’ways. I sure hope it’s not one of them, for your sakes.”

“You fought one?” Direl asked from his seat on the floor, looking up at her with stars in his eyes.

“Sure did! He was an awful bugger. Almost out-foxed me, but of course I always bring my Barret .50 and a whole mess a’ ready-to-go spells when I’m out campin’.”

“Spells?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, of course. Gotta stay safe out there.”

“But— um—” He cleared his throat. “A whole mess of them?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Donna nodded. “Ever since you lot turned me onto all this I’ve been gettin’ into all sorts of magic.”

“Really?” Direl asked breathlessly.

“Makes life a lot easier,” Jody said, popping in from the kitchen, “especially when we’ve got three young women to keep safe out there. Really all of us have started to dabble more as we get involved in all the different angles of hunting.”

"But you're not... it's not like... witchcraft, right?" Sam asked, possibly overshooting his goal of nonchalant. 

Jody raised a suspicious eyebrow, "No, I guess not. But even if it was, you know witches aren't automatically Bad Guys, right?"

"I... Well..."

"I've got about three just in my town, there," Donna jumped in. "Only trouble they get up to is growin' crazy-huge veggies and givin' that stinker Jenkins a hard time. Although, he brings it on himself, really."

"Misogynistic asshole," Jody agreed. She tipped her chin at the group, “Hey, could I get someone to peel potatoes?”

Donna turned to Direl with a smile, “Any chance I could rope you inta helpin’ me with that?”

Direl nodded eagerly, and floated along after her to the kitchen, leaving just Sam, Bris and Cas in the living room.

Sam rolled his eyes and settled further into the couch he was sharing with Bris, “Is Direl gonna fall for _everyone_ we introduce him to?”

Bris raised an eyebrow at him, but then she nodded, “Right, sorry, a’course ye can’t hear her.” She jerked a thumb toward the kitchen, “That there is a wailin’ heart if I ever heard one. Told’ja before, darlin’, you lot are like siren calls fer us. I ain’t surprised one bit Direl’s gone glad-eyed for the lass.”

“Oh.” Sam looked concernedly after Donna.

“An’ on top a’ that, from the gander I got there, her heart might be even warmer than Dean-o’s, an' you saw how he was after _him,”_ she chuckled.

Cas, in a chair on the other side of Sam, sat just a bit stiffer.

“Where the heck, _is_ Dean?” Sam asked impatiently. “All he’s texted all day is that the witness wasn’t helpful. And when I asked if he'd go check out the river he just said it looked particularly wet, whatever the hell that means.”

“Means he and Claire are goofing off somewhere,” Jody said, coming back from the kitchen as she wiped her hands on a towel.

“Dean wouldn’t ‘goof off’ on a case,” Cas said shortly, barely lifting his hands for the air-quotes.

Sam snorted. Jody’s gaze softened as she looked at Cas, “Guys, look, have you actually _talked_ to De—”

The front door burst open and Claire tumbled in with a snowy gust of wind, her cheeks rosy and her grin wide.

“Oh my _god,_ Sam, you have to make him stop!”

“Stop what? Stop who?” Sam asked.

“Dean! He won't stop trying to pick up girls for me!”

 _“What?”_ they all shouted.

Claire stumbled a bit as she tried and failed to kick off her shoes. “Shit, right, um, lesbian! Maybe. Surprise!”

“Wha— okay! Love and support, honey!” Jody stammered, “But—”

“He’s doing _what?”_ Sam interrupted.

Dean strode in behind Claire, his grin just as wide as hers, "Hey, _c'mon,_ those bar chicks were all cute and they even seemed decent enough!"

"Yeah okay, but _quit!_ It's so weird!" Claire giggled.

“Come _on,_ I gotta find you someone worth falling for!"

“Oh yeah? Well how about I find _you_ someone worth falling for? See how _you_ like it?"

Now Dean would swear, up and down, for the rest of his life, that in that everlasting second his eyes did not, absolutely _did not,_ flick over to Cas...

Claire’s eyes went wide as saucers. "...Oh my god."

...and Claire would swear for the rest of hers that they did.

Dean's hands shot up, “Claire, wait—”

_"Oh my GO—"_

_“He-hey!”_ Dean grabbed her by the arm and dragged her further into the house, “Hey, yeah! There's a thing—! A thing I need help with! Real important—! In the—! Over there!” and they vanished into the kitchen.

The living room went silent.

Sam, Bris, Cas, and Jody, completely unable to follow what had just happened before them, could only stare at the doorway after them.

Sam, without looking away, dug his wallet out of his pocket, and handed Jody twenty dollars.

———

Dean pulled Claire straight through the kitchen, right out into the snowy backyard in a bid to evade Cas’s hearing.

“You _asshole!”_ she shouted as she yanked herself out of his grasp, both of them still stumblingly unsteady on their feet, “Are you two together and you didn't tell me?”

 _“What?_ Of course not!”

“But you like him! I _knew_ it! You _do_ like him, don't you!?”

“Goddamn it, Claire, this isn't some Teen Vogue gossip column—”

“Hey, you shut up, Teen Vogue is awesome now.”

Dean ticked back, “What, really?”

“Yeah, man, protest tips and social reform and— Stop it! Don't change the subject! And don’t lie to me either! I saw you—”

“You didn't see shit—”

“Oh my god, _please!_ You are the most obvious person in the _world."_

"No, really—"

"You so totally looked at him just now! You’re _always_ looking at him with those _big, sappy_ heart-eyes and that dumb little _smile_ on your—”

_“Damn it, Claire, stop!”_

She recoiled from him, the finger she had been pointing up at him lowering slowly.

“Oh— God— I'm sorry,” Dean stepped forward with his hands raised, “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to shout—”

“No, shut up, you're not scary,” Claire said, defiantly looking up at him. Her hand trembled slightly at her side.

She hooked her thumbs in her pockets and said, “You know he… he feels the same way, right?”

Dean scoffed, “No he doesn't—”

“He does! He talks about you all the time and—”

“Did he actually _say_ something or are you just guessing?”

“I… Well…”

“Yeah.” Dean landed a hand on his hip. “Look, Claire, this isn't— This isn't as simple as that alright? I know you're just trying to help but… Fuck, I hate to say this to you, but you're just a kid and this isn't that easy. Cas is an angel—”

“Like that means anything—”

“It means _everything,_ Claire! He doesn't even _think_ like that! You and I can sit over here in La-La Land and wish and giggle, but he's on a whole ‘nother playing field, alright? I know you guys talk all the time but I've been with him for ten years, and that shit ain’t even on his radar.”

Claire leaned back, leveling him with a Look and crossing her arms. “He’s told me about Meg.”

Dean frowned at her. “Meg?”

“He kinda loved her, Dean,” she said with half a shrug.

Dean gaped, “That was— that was completely different—”

“Why? ‘Cause she was a _girl?”_

“‘Cause she was a fuckin’ _demon_ and he was _crazy_ at the time!”

“Not the whole time,” said a voice behind them.

Dean and Claire spun back to the house. Cas was standing on the back steps.

“So… you came out here to talk about... me?” he asked.

Dean panicked, “No! Cas, we—”

“No, Cas,” Claire cut him off. “We're talking about my girly shit. I might like this one girl and I was using you as an example.”

“Oh,” Cas shifted nervously, “my apologies then. You were just gone for long enough… Sam asked me to—”

“We’re fine,” she assured him, “we’ll come back in a bit.”

“Oh. Well, okay.”

“Hey, ah, Cas?” Dean asked, shifting his weight and wobbling a bit. “You weren't like... listening in were you?”

Cas tipped his head, “Of course not, that would be rude.”

“Right,” Dean smiled at him. “Thanks, buddy.”

Cas nodded with a small smile in return.

Dean and Claire continued to look at him.

"Oh—" he jumped a bit, “right, I'll just—” and he quickly went back inside.

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks for not saying something there.”

“Wow, you think I could be that shitty?”

“No, but—”

“I think you're wrong, but I'm not gonna do something like that.” She looked up at him. ”You should really tell him yourself.“

Dean shook his head, “No way, that would just… make everything so much worse. Everything would be weird. “

“Right, ‘cause it's not weird like this.”

Dean sighed at her and smiled, “Shut up.”

“You shut up!” she cuffed his arm.

Dean rolled his eyes and put an arm around her shoulders to lead her back into the house, “Come on, before they send out a whole battalion to find us.”

 _“Fine,”_ she relented, and allowed herself to be led. As Dean opened the back door she asked, “You know how _La-La Land_ ends, right?”

“Nope, haven't seen it yet, don't spoil it for me.”

 _"Tch,_ don't bother,” she said as they passed through the kitchen, “you're gonna hate it. Not your kinda thing at all.”

Before he could ask any further, Jody burst through the doorway to the living room.

“Back the _fuck_ up, you took her to a _bar!_ _?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please look at what a Barret .50 is and love Donna fiercely with me.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day was… tense. For everyone. If Dean'd had any illusions about being on Jody’s good side, those had been thoroughly evaporated last night. In fact, once it became apparent that he hadn’t actually interviewed the witness or looked at the waterways at all, Sam was pretty sure he wasn't on anyone’s good side anymore.

And then piled on _that_ foundation of stress was the argument Claire had with Jody about responsible drinking, and the other one about whether she should even be helping on this case at all, and of course the continued distance between Bris and Cas, and add in the inexplicable problem that last night's  _snowfall_ apparentlywas, and Sam was quickly realizing that today was shaping up to be particularly fraught.

After an almost silent breakfast, the first thing they did was actually go down to the river that ran in a ring through town. Jody first took them to the place where the most body parts were washing up, a bend where the current ran fast enough that the river couldn’t freeze over completely.

It was immediately apparent that what little ice there was had been recently broken. They even found some tracks in the snow. Cas bent down to inspect them.

“Whatcha got, Cas?” Sam asked.

“Unfortunately the wind has deteriorated them, but I can tell that these footprints were made by a large, four-legged creature that drags its tail behind it.”

“Yeah, thanks for Tracking 101,” Dean huffed.

“You’re welcome,” Cas answered honestly, though he tipped his head at Dean’s tone.

The rest of the group moved along to follow the faded trail of prints that led a short way up the river, but Sam took Dean's arm and held him back. “Hey, what the hell, man?”

“What?” Dean snapped.

“Don’t do that, you know what. Don’t take your bullshit out on Cas.”

Dean yanked his arm out of his grasp, “Fuck off, Sam.”

“Hey!” Sam looked at his brother for a moment. “The fuck is up with you, lately?”

“Nothing. Come on.” Dean turned to leave.

“No, Dean,” Sam caught him by the arm again, “fucking stop for a minute!”

With a harsh breath Dean turned back and glared at him. He spread his hands, telling Sam to continue.

“Look...” Sam paused, searching for the best way to get into this. “You know Cas is worried about you, right?”

Something flashed behind Dean’s eyes before the glower set back in, and Sam patted himself on the back.

“Cas is always worried, it's his thing,” Dean grumbled.

Sam bit back a pot-calling-the-kettle-black comment. “Yeah, sure," he said instead, "but he came to me because _you_ won’t talk to him. I mean, you won’t talk to _anybody_ lately. And now you’re shirking off on cases—”

“Hey, I was helping Claire. She’s going through a thing right now—”

“Yeah, so you took her out to pick up chicks, real mature.”

Dean’s lip curled. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“What? How could I not understand?”

Dean scoffed, “Yeah, a straight dude with a perfect girlfriend and his life all together, how could you not understand what a queer kid is going through?”

“You’ve been bi for like, a few months—”

“I told you, this has been my _whole life,_ _Sam—!”_ Dean stopped himself and pulled back, lowering the finger he had raised at him.  _“Motherfucking…_ You can’t understand, okay? So just fuck off, already.” He turned from Sam to follow the rest of the group.

Sam threw his arms out, “Well I might if you’d fucking  _talk to me,_ Dean!” he shouted at his back.

Dean flipped around. “Oh- so you wanna know now?” He stalked back up to Sam, “Spent the whole last week avoiding me like a fucking plague and now that this _one_ thing might set back your stupid-ass case, _now_ you wanna know? _Now_ you wanna know what it was like to be like this and not know what the _fuck_ it really was? Now you wanna know what it was like to shove this so deep down I had to stumble into a fucking _internet quiz_ to realize what the _fuck_ was going on in my head? And even then— How about I tell you what Dad did when I told him I had a crush on a boy in grade school? How about I tell you how many people I’ve shoved out of my life because I didn’t know what the fuck was happening to me?”

Sam stepped back at the sudden outburst, “Dean, I didn’t—”

“Oh no, Sam, you wanna talk, we’re gonna fucking talk.” Dean planted himself and jabbed a finger at Sam. “We’re gonna talk about how much of a _freak_ I thought I was. We’re gonna talk about how I just assumed everyone was like this and I was the only asshole who couldn’t deal. We’re gonna talk about how even while thinking _that,_ I didn’t even think this was a _thing_ that people _are._ Or just a thing that only _perverts_ were. How ‘bout I tell you how many fuckers in bars wanted to take me out for a ride when we were still hopping towns with Dad? And _after_ Dad. How about I tell you how many times I had to accept because we didn’t have any _fucking_ money, Sam? Or maybe you’d just like to know exactly how much more I hated it— my fucking _problem_ — because _maybe,_ just maybe, _I fuckin’_ _liked it a little._ Maybe you’d like to understand _that,_ god knows I would!”

Sam’s eyes flew wide, “Dean, _no._ That doesn’t—”

“Maybe I should tell you what I did while I was a demon, Sam. How bein’ a _fucking demon_ was the only time before now that I saw this. Maybe I should tell you all the shit that went down in Hell, the people I hurt, the people I _killed_ while I was off on my big gay joyride, huh? Or maybe I should tell you how once that was over I snapped right the fuck back and told myself it wasn’t real. None of it was real, because _of course_ it wasn’t, that shit is what _literal fucking DEMONS do, Sam!_ Would telling you _that_ help you understand?”

“Dean, please—”

“No, Sam. You can fuck right the fuck off with your talking crap. Excuse the fuck outta me if I took a day with Claire to help her out, to make sure she doesn’t have to deal with any of that, to make sure she _never_ thinks like that. _Excuse_ the _FUCK out of me_ if I want to make sure _one fucking thing_ doesn’t get _fucked up around here! But it looks like I can’t do that, either, can I, Sam?”_

“You didn’t—”

“Oh, sure I didn’t, that’s why I’m screaming at you out here in the snow, right? That’s why Cas is worried, that’s why Jody is cornering me, that’s why Claire is in trouble, because I didn’t fuck anything up, right? Fuck off, Sam,” he spat. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

He trudged off through the snowbank, tripping on the eroded shoreline hidden below as he made his way back up to the group where they were waiting for them.

And Sam just watched. Just watched his older brother march back to them and stand off to the side, just watched Cas try to stand a little closer to him, and just watched Dean tense and step back from him.

When Sam finally got his feet to work again, he returned to the group as well, only half-listening to whatever Jody was saying now. He didn’t know that most of what Dean said wasn’t really going to hit him until he laid down to sleep that night, but with what he was processing right now... of course he couldn’t understand. He cursed himself. He cursed the world. Of course he couldn’t fucking understand. Maybe he couldn’t even help. But he _could_ do what his brother asked of him. He could leave him alone.

So that’s what he did, and that’s what he would do. For Dean.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

####  **The Mountain**

 

Late in the afternoon and farther north on the river, they found their next clue.

“This blood is fresh,” Cas said, moving to scoop some up for closer inspection.

“Hey-hey-hey!” Jody snatched his wrist, “Don’t touch the crime scene! I have to call this in!”

“Well wait a minute for us to check it out.” Sam reached out for her hand that had twitched toward her radio.

“Right, of course.” She shook her head.  _“Damn_ it, we must have just missed them. If we had come sooner—”

Dean scoffed and kicked at the snow.

“What? You got something to say Mr. Let’s-Play-Hookey-on-a-Case?”

Before Dean could snap back at her, Cas stepped right next to him and glared at her.

Jody drew back just from the intensity of it. “Fine, alright. Geez, Cas.”

Dean looked over at Cas, but he had already moved away again. Dean’s brow furrowed.

Then he looked back to the blood, and noticed something.

“Hey wait,” Dean said, pointing at the snow, “there’s no tracks to this.”

Everyone else turned to look as Dean moved forward. “There’s just the blood, and the struggle, but there’s no tracks to or from the water.”

Cas searched the surrounding snow as well, “You’re right. It’s as if this person was plucked right off the shoreline.”

“Are we looking at somethin' that flies—?” Dean looked out over the broken ice on the river and stopped.

“Cas, get everyone back.”

“What?”

The water stirred, beginning to roil with something large underneath.

 _“Get back!”_ Dean shouted at everyone, drawing his gun.

Ripples shot forward in the water, Dean fired at them in a faint hope to cut whatever it was short.

_“Dean!”_

Something shot out of the water and Cas just managed to grab him and yank him back. Dean’s gun went off in the air, and they fell into the snow. The rest of the group retreated, Sam drawing his own gun and firing behind them.

Dean had just enough time to see that thing was a head attached to a long neck before he rolled to the side to avoid a snap from long, sharp teeth.

He and Cas scrambled up as it reared back for another strike. They got a quick look at a gray creature with a small head, a long neck, and a stocky body— looking more like a fucking _dinosaur_ than anything else as its long, orange teeth flashed with a roar.

“You go for the head,” Dean told Cas.

“Aim to the lower right for its heart,” Cas told Dean.

They sprinted in opposite directions, Cas back and Dean forward, Cas drawing off the head so Dean could get a clear shot at its chest as the huge monster began to climb out of the water. Dean knew he landed a few rounds, but the creature seemed completely unfazed. His pistol just wasn’t gonna cut—

The breath was knocked out of him as Dean was caught around the middle and thrown to the ground. The monster had spun, maybe Cas had landed a hit, and its thick tail had whipped forward and hit Dean, sending him flying backwards. He saw stars as he tried to get back up, but before he could gather himself there was a shout from someone and the next thing he felt was a slicing across his chest and a tremendous weight on his legs and then—

He screamed out as he was blinded, blinded by a pain he hadn’t felt in years as his bones were crushed under the monster’s foot.

He tried to come back from it, tried to come back so he could find his gun— he needed his gun— but he couldn’t even see for how much it hurt, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t hear—

A shout next to him snapped him back, a cry of pain he knew all too well. Dean managed to turn his face toward it and saw Cas wrangling with the monster’s head, fresh blood spreading across his front.

Flashes of the night they fought the afancs— the teeth, the roar, the thrashing water, the smell of blood— it all rang through his mind and Dean found himself desperate to move, desperate to get to Cas—

 _Pain— Stabbing— Scraping—_ The monster had him again, its teeth sinking into Dean’s shoulder and he was lost again— lost in the pain and the panic— the panic that Cas was hurt, that everyone was just behind them, that _Claire_ was watching this—

The monster’s jaws tightened and another wave _tore_ through him—

And Dean suddenly remembered that he occupied a _terrifyingly_ fragile body— a horrifyingly _mortal_ body—

A body he wasn’t ready to leave just yet.

He threw his free arm up and jammed his thumb into the monster’s eye. Its blood rained down on him as it reared back with a screeching roar.

“Dean!” Cas barked.

He looked over and Cas tossed his blade to him, the silver glinting in the midday sun.

He barely caught it and thrust it just as the monster came back for another assault, the blade piercing its skull easily, sinking right between its eyes.

It flailed, rearing back as it squealed one last time, then it went limp and toppled, landing with a thud that shook the very ground.

But Dean didn’t hear that, didn't even feel it, because everything had snapped back for him, the pain and the panic, the ragged punctures through his shoulder overpowering the blaring siren from his legs. He probably screamed, he wouldn’t know, what he did know was that he was going cold, he was cold and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe through the blood in his throat _—_ Some trained instinct kicked in and he knew he had to fight it, and he did fight it... but his vision was tunneling... he was slipping... he fought but still he was slipping... falling further...

But then he was filled with… light. A perfectly familiar, bright, barely-blue light that soothed, that wrapped around the pain and dulled it. It wasn’t gone, not entirely, but Dean could finally feel something else, the sting of the cold on his skin, the burn of the air in his lungs, and a hand, grasping tightly at his shoulder...

And Dean couldn't help but huff at it, because of course, it was on his left shoulder.

“Dean?” that damned, wonderful voice asked from above him.

“Yeah, Cas?” he grunted, eyes still squeezed shut.

“Are you alright?”

Dean didn’t bother to answer that. Instead, he tried to sit up, his newly mended legs bending stiffly with the effort. Cas slipped a hand behind him to help, and Dean fought whether to lean into it or shy away from it, fortunately resulting in a neutral tensing of his shoulders. From behind them, he could hear the others shouting for them and running back.

He managed to open his eyes, and looked over at Cas kneeling next to him, eyes so wide and searching, brows arched so high, just looking so _worried…_ And in that moment all Dean wanted was to get that look off his face.

“You know, I totally had it,” he said, trying for snark, but coming out grumbled.

Cas just sighed and shook his head at him. “Needing help isn’t shameful, Dean.”

“I didn’t say—”

“You might as well have.”

Dean chuckled as his lips wanted to lift in the corners, “Shit, Cas, alright.”

Cas looked him over and asked again, “Are you okay?”

Dean took quick stock of the merchandise. “My chest still stings but I’m sure that’ll be fine—”

Cas placed his hand on his chest anyway. That look still hadn’t quite left his face yet, but it was tinged with annoyance now, so maybe Dean had made some progress.

He tried again, thinking maybe he could get at least a twitch of a smile out of him. “You know, you keep givin' me all this help and I’m gonna get all dependent on you. Won’t be able to take off like you do.”

Cas tensed at that, and Dean knew he had said the wrong thing.

“Like how you…” Cas trailed off, his frown cutting deep as he censored himself.

He brought his gaze to meet Dean’s, those sharp eyes seeing too far into him like always.

“I will always come to protect you, Dean.”

Cas stood and went to retrieve his blade from the monster’s skull, leaving Dean to just blink after him.

A part of his mind that he had previously shoved down tentatively poked its head out.

_He sure says things like that a lot lately_

Den grabbed that voice by the neck and started shoving it right back down—

But Cas turned back to him just then, only for a second, and there was this... look in his eye. This… Dean didn’t even know what to call it. But it was pained, and it was sad, and it made him stop, just for that moment before Cas turned away again to check if everyone else was alright.

And Dean let that voice’s statement stand. He didn’t embrace it, or investigate it further, but he let it stand. For now.

 

 _“...The higher I go, the harder I fall,_  
_So I don’t look down, I don’t look back at all,_  
_And when I wish it would all turn to black,_  
_I try to see the light and push the darkness back,_

 _Every day I’m just survivin’,_  
_Keep climbin’, the mountain,_  
_Even when I feel like dyin’,_  
_Keep climbin’, the mountain…_

 _...So if I’m not already too far gone,_  
_And if I feel a pulse then I can carry on,_  
_When I’m lost and wanna fade away,_  
_I tell myself to live, to die another day...”_

 

———

 

Killing the monster was one thing, but now they had a new problem. Well, really the same problem as before.

“What the hell is that thing?” Jody asked once they were sure Dean and Cas were okay.

“It seems so familiar...” Bris said. She turned to Direl, “That noise it made when it keeled over, that jog a memory for you, too? Like from the farm?”

Direl shrugged, “Gots me. I block most a’ that out.”

“It’s a variety of lake monster, but I’m not sure which one,” Cas said as he leaned over the head. Claire came forward to see what he was inspecting and he pointed at the teeth, “These would match the wounds from the body parts.”

“Oh, cool.”

Cas perked up at her interest. “You can also tell that this creature typically eats larger prey that it has to keep a hold of, with the way the teeth curve back.”

“Oh, _cool.”_

“Wait a tick…” Bris leaned down to look into its un-gouged eye. “Wait, is this…? No, he’s so huge!”

“What?” asked Sam.

“I think this is Douglas!”

“What?” Direl jumped forward. “No way, Douglas were a wee beastie, no more’n eight meters, this one’s gotta be fifteen!”

“Eight meters is a _‘wee beastie’?”_ Dean shouted.

“They keep giant otter-dogs as pets, it’s safe to assume their sense of scale is different from yours,” Cas said patiently.

Dean huffed through his nose at him.

“Douglas is a— well he _were_ a Mokele-Mbembe, kept only a cage down from us,” Bris said.

Cas moved to inspect one of the creature’s— Douglas’s— enormous feet. “Oh of course, yes, he only has three front toes.” He turned back to Claire, “If we dissected him we could see he had a two-chambered stomach as well.”

“Cool, gross,” she said with a smile.

“If he was at the farm,” Dean asked cautiously, “are you telling me there’s a bunch of these Loch Ness Wanna-Be’s in the river?”

“Well now, I wouldn’t call him that,” Bris said, “seems insultin’. Nessie’s are right bastards.”

Dean gestured wordlessly to the shredded, bloodied clothes barely covering his healed wounds.

“Ah, well, yeah,” she blustered. “Point is, no. There were only one a’ him. At least I think there were.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“So what are we gonna do with the body?” Claire asked eagerly.

Cas looked over to Sam and Dean.

Sam’s eyes flew wide, “Nope!” he shouted, palms raised high, and spun on his heel to head back for the car.

Dean just smiled.

“What?” Claire asked Dean, “What are you so excited about?”

Cas stepped forward, a small grin teasing at his lips, and put two fingers to Douglas’s corpse.

“Stand back and I’ll show you,” he said as a familiar hum arose.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

With the monster… _taken care of…_ There wasn’t much to do but return to Jody’s house to clean up and relax before the drive home tomorrow. Donna made sure to stop by to say goodbye, but soon disappeared into the kitchen with Direl again.

As everyone else did their best to finish off the bottle of whiskey they had brought, Cas found himself in the corner with Claire, filling in a new page in her journal for the Mokele-Mbembe.

“Okay, so I’ve got the bit about his toes,” Claire said, pausing her pen, “but how the heck was a cold-blooded reptile surviving up here in the _winter?”_

“Well for starters it wasn’t a reptile, but they are related. If you go back far enough, reptiles and this creature would share a common ancestor.”

“Okay, but winter?”

“It wasn’t cold-blooded either, though it is remarkable that a Congolese monster took so well to the frigid water,” Cas said as Claire continued to write. “But I suppose if the tiny, tropical Monk Parakeet can survive American winters why couldn’t a multi-ton relative of the Plesiosaur? Life is just infinitely fascinating that way.”

“...infinitely… fascinating…” Claire wrote. She looked up and smiled at Cas, “Thanks, and I made sure to get the part where you wanna hit it right between the eyes.”

“A sufficiently-powered firearm to the heart should also work.”

She quickly jotted that down in the margin. Claire looked up from her journal again, her attention drawn away as everyone else laughed at something on the other side of the living room. With a small smile, she turned back to Cas, “Hey, um, thanks. Having you help me is really nice.”

Cas tilted his head, “Why?”

“Well because…” She shied back and shut her journal. “Nevermind.”

Cas recognized apprehension in her expression. “You can tell me, Claire,” he gently asked of her.

“Nah, nevermind, it’s stupid and sappy.”

“Nothing you say could ever be stupid.”

She blushed, and turned to face him again. “Well, see… Okay, so I know— I know he’s not _in_ there or anything, but… having you help me out, and teaching me stuff... it’s kinda almost like having my Dad back again.”

Cas’s heart dropped to the floor.

“Oh,” he looked away from her.

“I know, see? Stupid and sappy.”

“No!” Cas quickly took her hand in his own, “No, it’s not stupid, Claire. It’s…” he looked away again, “I'm sorry that I make you uncomfortable.”

“What? No, it’s good! It’s nice. I just… I miss him, you know? And Mom.” She glanced down at their hands, but quickly popped back up with a smile, “Hey, have you seen them?”

“Seen them?”

“Yeah!” she beamed, “Like have you visited them? Up in Heaven?”

Cas froze. He looked back at Claire, and he saw her hope, he saw the anticipation of joy from his answer. But he also saw all the wrongs he had wrought upon her family— the pain for her father, the trauma to her mother, and the long years Claire had spent suffering with the neglect he had directly caused...

Cas had promised Jimmy he would protect his family, and he had failed. And now, looking into his daughter’s eyes... Cas just couldn’t bring himself to hurt her any more.

“Yes,” he lied.

Her smile brightened the room even as Cas’s heart sank further. “Are they happy?” she asked.

“All of the souls in Heaven are perfectly content.”

“Good,” Claire smiled. “Next time you see them, you’ll tell them I said hi, right? Tell them I miss them?”

“Of course,” he promised.

“Good,” she repeated. She stood, using the hand Cas was still clasping to bring him along with her, “Now come on, I want more of that whiskey before it’s gone, it was really good.”

Cas’s weak protests were drowned out by the boisterous tussle over who got to pour Claire a glass or keep it away from her. Dean won out though, sneaking her his glass and then asking for more for himself, and the joy contained in their knowing smiles was almost enough to chase away Cas’s guilt for a while.

Almost.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

The next morning, after a crowd of criss-crossing goodbyes and promises to _freakin’ call every once in a while, Winchester,_ they were packing up the car when Sam’s phone rang.

“Oh, hey, it’s Inas and Ballo,” he said, and he put them on speaker.

 _“Dia dhuit, everyone!”_ said Inas.

They gave a loud round of ‘hello’s.

_“You lot still in Dakota? Ballo an’ I was thinkin’ you should stop by before our flight leaves tomorrow, since you’re in the neighborhood!”_

“We’re actually further than—” but Cas was cut off with a look from Sam.

_“What’s that?”_

“Nothing, Inas, we’d love to see you one more time before you leave for _who knows how long,”_ he said, looking hopefully between Dean and Cas in particular.

Dean just rolled his eyes and went back to loading the car.

“If we leave right away we can be there by… this evening,” Sam said, checking his map. “Let us take you out to dinner, we’ll send you off right.”

_“Oh, wouldn’t that be nice! Ballo, they wants to take us to dinner! Yes, let’s do that! See you tonight, dearies. Slán!”_

_“Slán,”_ Sam echoed as he hung up. “Okay,” he said to everyone, “one more day on our trip, not so bad. Now where’s—?”

Direl came storming out of the house. He threw his bag wantonly into the trunk and dropped into the back seat without a word to anyone.

 _“Okay...”_ Sam said slowly. “Well, that’s everyone! Off we go to Chicago! Again!”

 

———

 

About an hour into the drive, Bris finally said something.

“Was startin’ to think you was gonna stay behind, there, Direl,” she teased during the lull while Dean switched tapes. “What happened in there that’s got such a puss on yer face?”

Direl didn’t answer her right away. When he did it was quiet and restrained.

“She don’t want me,” he said.

The smirk fell from her lips. She nodded in understanding and sat back in her seat.

But Sam was too quick to ask, “What?”

Direl’s face darkened, “I said she don’t want me, Sam! Three nights! _Three_ nights I had with her an’ I couldn’t—!" he slumped over his lap, "I couldn’t show her how happy I coulda made her…”

“Hey, that’s alright Direl,” Sam tried to soothe him, “not everyone is gonna work out—”

“But it shoulda! Her heart was jus’ so…  I just couldn't find the right things to say. I tried so hard but she didn't— I would make her so happy, I know I would! An' I know she knowed I would, but she don’t want it! Sent me off! I’d make her forget all about that eejit what could let a woman like her go! What kinda fool—”

“Thought you’d’a realized by now that this shite is more complicated than that,” Bris snapped.

“‘Course it is, but I shoulda been able to—”

“Yer life’s gonna be a hell of a lot happier when you realize yer not gonna save everyone, Direl.”

Direl leaned forward to glare across Sam at her. “No, but I sure can damn well try.”

Dean found a tape and cut off their conversation, leaving the back seat stewing for the remainder of the trip.


	8. Chapter 8

They arrived in Chicago later than expected, slowed by the rush-hour traffic and Dean’s insistence on keeping Baby a minimum of fifty feet away from _these crazy fucking Chicago drivers, don’t they know what a left lane is for?_

But eventually they made it, pulling into the waiting cover of Catherine Chevalier Woods. Dean hummed appreciatively at the sign as they parked.

They quickly found Inas and Ballo, who were waiting for them near the trailhead.

“Well, the restaurant is just across the woods,” Sam said, clapping his hands together as the group approached them. “I made a reservation and everything, so let’s…! Um…”

Sam trailed off. Inas and Ballo, who had been beaming just a moment ago, were now downright glowering at them.

Well, at two of them.

“You,” Ballo pointed at Dean, “Come with me, boy,” and he turned down the path without even waiting to see if he was being followed.

Dean looked to everyone else, but when no one raised a protest he just shoved his hands in his pockets and headed down the path.

Inas didn’t say anything. They just glared.

At Bris.

“Wha—” she looked around, _“Me?_ The fuck did I do?”

Still Inas didn't answer, and turned on their heel to leave down the path Ballo hadn’t taken.

 _“ As ucht Dé…” _Bris grumbled, and followed them.

As the four of them headed off into the white-topped trees, Sam, Cas, and Direl just stood there, baffled, in the silent parking lot.

 _“Damn_ it!” Direl burst, slapping his thigh.  _“Knew_ I shoulda taken odds!”

 

———

 

Ballo wasted no time on pleasantries.

“Ye didn’ listen to me, boy.”

Dean just gritted his teeth. “Yeah, well, I’ve kind of had a lot of shit on my plate, so—” 

“Been weeks now an’ you’ve only gotten worse.”

Dean tensed at his bluntness.

“Some a’ them wounds have only jus’ recently faded, an’ not by much. This got way outta hand—”

 _“Hey._ I didn’t sit nine hours in a car to have some old man tell me how much I can screw up—”

“Well pardon me if I ain't pussy-footin’ around anymore! You need help, an’ ye needed it yesterday!”

“Why the fuck does everyone keep _saying that?”_ Dean shouted. “I’m _fine,_ I’m _dealing_ with it! It’s not like I’m fucked up like Sam was!”

Ballo stopped in his tracks and grabbed Dean by the shoulders, forcibly spinning him to look him in the eye.  _“You are not fine.”_

Dean jerked himself free, “Think I know how the fuck I feel, thanks.”

“Tha’—” Ballo shut his eyes and pointed a hand at Dean, “That’s not quite how that works.” He sighed and ran that hand over his face, “Please. _Please,_ lad. I can _see_ what’s goin’ on in there! I means— Fuckin’ hell, boy, why don’t you believe me? Ye stubborn bastard, what the fuck is— I mean, do you think I’m _lyin’_ to ye?”

“I—” Dean started, ready for a fight. But then he sighed, shifting his weight. “No, man, I don’t think you’re lying to me, okay? I’m just thinkin’ you’re blowin’ this out of proportion.”

“I’m not, lad, I swears. Look, wouldja just… Wouldja just promise me ye won’t let this sit anymore? I don’t know what I’d do if somethin’ happened to you an’ I coulda stopped it.”

Dean scoffed at him. “Dude, you don’t even know me.”

“You've gone an' saved me an’ mine how many times now? You’re _family,_ lad. Certainly you can understand that?”

Dean dropped his head and sighed, “Yeah. Yeah, I can understand that.”

“Then ye must understand why I can’t stand to see you like this. So _please,”_ he stepped forward and took Dean’s shoulders again, “please promise me, lad. Promise you’ll talk to someone. Heck, the offer to talk to _me_ is still open! I’ll even back outta this flight if’n ye need me to stay for it, or whoop yer arse into doin’ it.”

Dean looked from Ballo’s hand on him to his face. He took in the genuine concern, the fragile patience, the damned _hope_ there... and he almost took him up on that offer. He almost broke right there and spilled his guts to someone who, even for all the shit they’d been through, was honestly a stranger to him.

But a big, confident, brawny asshole like him, he’d probably never felt the shit that wanted to pass through Dean’s head. Besides, Ballo was old. He was goin’ home. He’d only just gotten out of that shit with the farm a few months ago, he didn’t need Dean’s crap piled on top of his own. 

So Dean held it all back, and held himself just a little bit stiffer.

“Yeah,” he lied, “I’ll talk to someone, okay? You don’t need to hold up your flight.”

“It’s no skin off my nose—”

“Really. I’ll do it.”

“...Alright,” Ballo said with a discerning look. “You seem a man of your word, Dean the Hunter. I’m trustin’ you on this,” he gave Dean a warm smile.

With practiced discipline, Dean held back his wince, but there was no way to stop his heart from hitting the floor. In an effort to ignore it, Dean moved to head back up the trail, just relieved that this conversation was finally over.

Ballo, however, didn’t seem to think so. “Now for another thing,” he tightened his grip on Dean to hold him in place, shifting his weight as he pointed a hand at him again, “yer life’d be a whole lot easier if’n you jus’ _told_ that angel that yer head over heels for him.”

 

———

 

Bris trotted up behind Inas as they marched on down the path.

“What the hell are we doin’, Inas? Ye ain’t seen me in weeks, an' it’s not like you can see my heart, so why’re ye pullin’ _me_ out of a line up?”

Inas's voice was tight and clipped. “Can’t see _yer_ heart, but I sure can see his.”

“His?” Bris’s blood chilled and she rushed around to face them as they walked, “Somethin’s wrong with Sam?”

“I ain’t talkin’ about Sam.”

"Yer not?" she asked. She quickly shook her head of it, furrowing her brow in thought. Then Bris shrank from them, “Is this about what’s on with Dean-o?”

“Ain’t talkin’ 'bout him neither.”

She frowned again. “Well it can’t be about _Direl—”_

“That angel has a new wound on his heart.”

Bris wiped the concern from her face and stood up straight again, “Do he now?” she said, her tone substantially cooled, “I hadn’t looked.”

“Looks like he hurt a friend pretty bad. An’ you seem to be the only one what won’t even look at him.”

Bris’s nose wrinkled as her upper lip twitched.

“Yer not even talkin’ to him are ye?”

“Ain’t got nothin’ to talk about.”

“‘Course ye do. He’s yer friend an’ ye care for him doncha?”

Bris scowled. “That’s what I used to think.”

Inas considered her carefully.

Their tone was far cooler when they said, “How’s aboutcha start at the start, an’ tell me what happened.”

 

———

 

Dean recoiled from Ballo, “What? No— I don’t—”

Ballo just gave him a Look, glancing pointedly down at his chest.

Dean grimaced. _“Christ_  I hate that creepy-ass, peeping-Tom bullshit,” he grated. He threw his hands out, “Fine, you nosy asshole, _fine!_  But no! Telling him absolutely would not fix anything!”

“Sure as fuck would, an’ I know that fer a damned fact.”

“Oh, and how the fuck would you—”

“‘Cause I’m the sorry bastard what went an’ made that same mistake.”

The petulant pout fell from Dean's face and he met Ballo's gaze.

“Do you know how old I am, lad?”

Dean shook his head, “Not really. I mean— Crazy old from what Sam says.”

“Well— Lord, it's gotta be somewheres above four centuries, now. An’ I spent almost three of ‘em with my head up my own arse.”

“What, you had the hots for that Inas—?”

“I loved Inas from the moment I met ‘em!” Ballo cut. “An' I wasted half my life not sayin’ a damned thing." He looked down to the dark asphalt path. “An’ the fuckin’ kicker is I don’ even really know why.”

“Yeah well, I’m sure that whole spiel just a tear-jerking tale, but _I_ know exactly why, so you can just butt out of it, alright?”

“Right. M'sure you got jus’ as many crap reasons as I did—”

“Look, just stop, man. My life ain’t nothing like yours.”

“I’m only tryin’ to—”

“Well don’t!” Dean shouted. “You might have gotten your little Lifetime Special all figured out but my shit’s a hell of a lot more fucked up than that, so how about you just fuck back off to Shamrock Island and leave me the fuck alone?”

“Lad, please—”

“No. You’re really trying my patience here, old man. I heard you out about the other crap, but you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about here, okay?”

“But it’s the same thing! I can see it in both yer hearts—”

“I don’t know what you _think_ you see, but that ain’t your run-of-the-mill schmuck like me back up there,” Dean pointed back up the path. “That’s a goddamned angel. An actual, literal, God-damned angel, and no matter what you, or _anyone else_ in this brigade of _hopeless romantics_ I seem to attract wherever I go says, _that_ ain’t gonna change. No matter how much it hurts, it ain’t gonna change, so you might as well just— give up.” He stood straighter, falling back a step. “I might as well just…" his eyes fell, searching the ground, "...give up.” 

“No,” Ballo followed him with his palms raised, “lad, please, his heart ain’t that different from yours—”

“Of course it is. It’s _completely_ different from mine—”

“Just ‘cause it’s an angel’s—”

 _“No!_ Because it’s _good!”_

Dean and Ballo both drew back.

“He’s…” Dean continued, “He’s good, and I’m...” He looked down at his own chest. His voice fell softer, wavering, “All I’m gonna do is bring him down. All I’m gonna do is... is break him again.”

“...Again?”

Dean didn’t seem to hear him. “All I’m gonna do is hurt him. All I do _now_ is hurt him…” His hands fisted at his sides. “He doesn’t need any more of my bullshit, he gets enough as it is.”

"Lad..." Ballo looked down into Dean’s chest. His eyes widened and he reached out a hand to him, “No now, lad, wait—”

“No,” Dean stepped back from him, “Stop. Just… stop.” A lump he couldn’t swallow was forming in his throat, and he wasn’t sure he could fight the burn behind his eyes.

“We’re done here,” Dean spat, pushing past Ballo to leave back up the path to the parking lot.

 

———

 

“Well that sure went arseways,” Inas said once Bris had finished.

 _“See?_ How the fuck can I look at him after he—”

“I weren’t done.”

Bris huffed and they continued walking.

“Now I will absolutely give you that the whole thing were awful. That it were a terrible thing and you were absolutely right to be furious an’ rip him a new one.”

Bris rolled her eyes, _“But...”_

“But yer holdin’ a grudge that ain’t worth nothin’.”

“Oh, so now _yer_ gonna defend him, too—”

“Will you hold yer tongue for one second, child, an’ jus’ _listen."_

Her fists clenched, and she shut her mouth.

“Now I know yer a good listener. I know it right well. When it comes to other’s problems you got love aplenty fer any sufferin’ creature—”

Bris winced, but Inas either didn’t see or ignored it.

“—but when it’s your own heart what’s hurtin’ you ask the world to move heaven 'n’ earth to get back into yer good graces. An’, darlin’, that jus’ ain’t no way to live.”

Bris wanted to shout, to tell Inas off, but she knew better and kept biting her tongue to let them continue.

“I said it now, I know he hurt you, an' I agree it were wrong. But I think you knows full well it weren’t malicious. The boys done tried to explain what happened but you didn’t wanna hear it, an’ off you went. He’s sorry ain’t he? Just what’re you holdin’ out for?”

“I—” Bris started, ready to unleash what she was holding back. But she realized she wasn’t mad at Inas, they didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of that. So she pulled back, and gave that question the consideration it deserved.

“I don’t know if I can forgive him, Inas.”

They nodded. “An’ you might not fer a while. This might be somethin’ that hurts between ye fer a long time. Maybe forever. Forgiveness ain't somethin’ that comes easy, much as the Lord would wish it to flow freely from us. But you should remember it’s somethin’ meant fer you more’n it is fer those who hurt you. Forgiveness is about yer own healin’.”

“I can’t just forget—”

“Did I say forget? Did I not _just_ say this don’t magically go away? Forgiveness ain’t forgettin’. Forgiveness moves ye forward. When you’re ready. In yer own time. But until then, you’re pushin’ away an ally when what you’re gonna need are friends aplenty when the hard times comes. You’re wastin’ the time you have on God’s green Earth railin’ at someone you care for, someone who cares back a whole hell of a lot if his heart’s anythin’ to go by.”

Bris gritted her teeth and glared at the ground, fighting the burn rising behind her eyes.

“Darlin’,” Inas stopped and took Bris gently by the shoulders, “Yer so good at listenin’ when people needs to talk _at_ ya, but you also gotta listen when people needs to talk _with_ ya, otherwise yer gonna lose this beautiful little family ye found."

Bris dropped her eyes to the ground.

"People ain’t perfect, love. Ain’t nothin’ what’s truly perfect in this world. They’re gonna mess up, they're gonna make mistakes. So you gotta let them fix ‘em when they make ‘em.”

Bris fought to swallow around the lump forming in her throat, “I— I’m sorry, Inas. I'm sorry, I—”

“No! No-no-no, love,” Inas pulled her into a hug. “Don’t be sorry fer this. If nobody’s perfect that means you ain’t perfect neither. An’ that’s okay. Alls you can do is try. Try to be better than yesterday, try to love little more than yesterday. You can only give yerself permission to fail and promise to do better tomorrow. It’s all we can do in this crazy ol’ world a’ ours.”

Bris held them back tightly, finally allowing her tears to slip into their jacket.

“There ye go, love, let it out, let it out. Ye been holdin’ that in for far too long, standin’ too stiff to this. You remember what I always says about the trees, right?”

She huffed wetly into their shoulder, “Gotta bend in the damned wind.”

“There ye go, see? I did manage to teach ye somethin’ after all these years!” They chuckled as the two of them pulled apart. “Now c’mon, love, let’s go on an’ get back to them boys. I swears I could about ate a reverend mother right about nows!”

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Had anyone looked over to their table at the restaurant, they wouldn’t have thought anything of what they saw. Certainly no one would have guessed that they were watching a telekinetic try his best to explain to four multi-century old beings and an Angel of the Lord what Chicago-style pizza was, even though he himself had no idea why Chicagoans assembled their pizza upside down, or why you had to eat it with a fork and knife, or even whether all that effort was really going to be worth it in the end.

No, that hypothetical observer would have just assumed they were witnessing a family gathering like any other, and turned right back to their own dinner without a second thought.

After ordering, the talk at the table revolved around what Inas and Ballo were going to do once they got back to Ireland, first and most urgent being meeting up with family members that hadn’t been captured, and letting them know they were alright. Relatives needed to be informed of what had happened, where they'd been all this time, who had chosen to stay in the U.S. and also who… hadn’t made it. But they did their best not to dwell on that and tried to keep it light, quickly steering the conversation back to who they might find first, and who Bris and Direl wanted the two of them to be sure they said hello to for them. They were largely successful in their efforts, and Ballo’s warm, booming laugh filled the small restaurant even as Inas did their best to keep him at a civil volume with their hand on his knee.

The conversation carried on, but Dean was on the sidelines, having purposefully placed himself at the far end of their long table. He was trying to let everyone else enjoy this, because Sam was right, who knew how long it would be before they saw Inas and Ballo again, if ever, so Dean didn’t want to spoil this with his particular brands of bullshit.

But of course it couldn’t be that easy, because of course Cas seemed to have had the same basic idea, having also placed himself at the end of the table in the seat just opposite of Dean.

So even if Dean hadwanted to participate in the discussion, he knew he wouldn’t be able to, because right now it was taking all of his effort not to just prop his chin in his hands and stare until they made him leave. Because _of course_ it was a bright, clear evening, and _of course_ their table was over by the big front window, and _of course_ Cas had taken the perfect seat in front of that window, lighting himself in the soft glow of the setting winter sun, and _of course_ that golden shine in his windblown hair was just so goddamn _perfect_ —

And of course Dean cursed himself, because he was obviously a far weaker man than he’d ever suspected.

When the waiter finally came by with their drinks Dean thanked every deity he could name and slammed about half his beer before the guy had even gotten around the table. As he put his glass down, though, he found himself distracted again, this time by the face Cas was making at his own drink. And yeah, fine, sue Dean if he couldn’t help the way the corner of his mouth ticked up at the sight.

He was pretty sure he knew what the problem was, but still asked, “What’s wrong, Cas?”

Cas continued to frown at the clear soda he’d ordered in an effort to keep up appearances in this public place. “The bubbles are irritating,” he grumbled.

Yep. Called it. Dean huffed through the smile that threatened to widen as he switched his cheap beer with Cas’s drink. “There, buddy, less fizz for ya.”

Cas looked up from the glasses, and gave him a little half-smile in return.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope— Dean fought the urge to duck his head, and answered instead with what was probably a strained grimace instead of a smile, before quickly turning back to whatever everyone else was still talking about.

Not that he was able to pay any more attention than before, because of course that little grin was still visible in the corner of his eye.

Oblivious to or ignoring the turmoil at the other end of the table, everyone else carried on. Inas and Ballo asked them about their last hunt, and it was with somber tones that Bris and Direl recounted what they had found in Sioux Falls. They all lamented the loss of Douglas, who had kept them entertained and distracted through some of the worst times on the farm, but they wholeheartedly agreed it was for the best that he’d had to be put down.

“Certainly can’t have a critter like that runnin’ around killin’ folk,” Inas conceded.

“So what’re you workin’ on now that that’s over?” Ballo asked innocently enough.

Sam tensed at the inquiry, “Well— um—”

 _“Ahh,_ go on!” Direl prodded, perhaps prompted by his fourth beer. “They can handle it, maybe they’ll even ‘ave an idea!”

“Well…” Sam set his sweet tea on the table and gestured with his hands. “We’re searching for the archangel Gabriel so we can mount a rescue mission to save family members stuck in another dimension, hopefully before a possible attack comes in from a _different_ archangel from said dimension.” He took a breath and sighed, “An attack that, if I’m honest, we’re not really sure is coming, or even know how we'd head it off if it did come.”

The older selkies’ eyes went wide.

“That’s— Well that’s certainly somethin’, lad,” said Inas.

“Thinkin’ that’s a little above our paygrade, though,” said Ballo. He looked concernedly at Bris and Direl, “You’ll be sure to take care a’ your little cousin through all that, right?” he asked Bris.

 _“Athair!”_ Direl complained, “I can take care a’ my own hide, ya know!”

“Aye, _mo mhac,_ a’course I knows,” Ballo answered resignedly, yet with a twinkle in his eye, “but that ain’t gonna stop me from worryin’ none, now is it?”

Direl grumbled sharply into his drink even as his cheeks reddened in embarrassment.

From there dinner continued without another worry, and when they finished the selkies all agreed that the pizza, however unconventional, was absolutely worth the extra effort.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

After dinner, they crossed back through the woods to the parking lot where they lingered with their last goodbyes. As the streetlights came on, Ballo was the one who gave them all a gentle shove.

“Alright, _a taisce,_ we better let ‘em go," he slipped an arm around Inas’s waist, "they gots a long trip ahead of ‘em, here."

And with a final round of hugs and wishes-well, Inas and Ballo headed back down the trail and disappeared into the snowy woods.

But as their group crossed the parking lot, Sam held Bris back for a moment.

“Hey, what did that mean, what Ballo said just now?”

Bris began to redden, though not from the chill in the air. “What, that we gots a long trip, here?”

Sam held his grin to the corner of his lips. “No, what he said to Inas. I’ve heard him say that before, but it isn't something you’ve taught me yet. ‘A tashka’?”

Sam definitely saw Bris shiver as he said that. “It’s, um… ye see…”

Her continued bashfulness only pulled his smile wider and he leaned in to kiss her temple, “I could just look it up if you don’t want to tell me.”

“No, no— ye don’t wanna do that. Ye won’t find the right answer, anyway.” She took his hands in her own, looking to them instead of his eyes, “It means... ‘my treasure.’ An’ for people— for the normal folks back in Ireland, it’s just another way to say ‘darlin’,’ just another name to call yer sweetheart. But, um… for us…” she looked off to the side, “it’s what ye call yer love. Yer everythin’. Yer one an’ only.”

Sam’s smile widened and he opened his mouth—

“You don’t just says it to anyone,” Bris cut him off, looking sharply up into his eyes. “It ain't somethin' what to just throw around.”

Sam took a mental step back, seeing the way she was holding herself so tensely, the way her hands were almost crushing his. Now that he thought about it, he could only imagine how important a sentiment like “one and only” could be to beings like the selkies, of course they wouldn’t treat it lightly. So he nodded, and gently pulled Bris forward by their clasped hands for a kiss. “Alright,” he said, taking one hand back to thread it through her hair, “I think I understand.”

He cradled the back of her head and pulled her closer for a deeper kiss, this one filled with the sentiment she didn’t seem ready to hear from him out loud. Sam knew he’d made the right call when she melted into it, kissing him back with the same heat he offered, and his heart fluttered at this joy he’d somehow managed to find.

A sharp honk made them almost jump out of their skins, and they shot matching scathing looks at the Impala.

“Come on! You can make out all you want at home!” Dean shouted out the window.

Sam huffed and put an arm around Bris to lead them to the car.

*I say we put itching powder in his underwear.*

 _*Oo,_ see I were just gonna salt his coffee, but I like that much better.*

With a beaming grin and an extra squeeze around her shoulders, Sam kissed the top of her head, and they slipped into the back seat of the car together.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

####  **Love the One You’re With**

_“If you’re down, and confused,_  
_And you don’t remember, who you’re talkin’ to,_  
_Concentration, slip away,_  
_Because your baby, is so far away,_

 _Well, there’s a rose, in a fisted glove,_  
_And the eagle flies, with the dove,_  
_And if you can’t be, with the one you love, honey,_  
_Love the one you’re with,_  
_Love the one you’re with…”_

 

They had decided to try to get about halfway back to Kansas before they stopped to rest for the night, but well before then, Dean found the back seat blanketed with the soft sounds of muffled snores and gentle breathing. He turned down the radio a bit so they could sleep easier, and the quiet gave him some time to think.

Now over the last couple weeks, Dean had been avoiding ‘time to think’ as much as he possibly could. He knew exactly where it led, so he’d just… not been going there. But right now things felt different. Maybe it was that he was in his Baby, with his family (and Direl) around him and some real radio stations going, or maybe it was just the change of scenery, but right now, things were a little calmer upstairs. A little less turbulent. A little more steady.

So as he rumbled down this little two-lane highway, headlights dimly illuminating the road before him, he found his mind tugging him where it so often wanted to go these days— over into _Cas_ territory— and he let it.

Because even without people _bringing it up_ all the _goddamned_ time, he had been capital-f Freaking Out over this for over a week now. He’d had time to go through every iteration of how terrible this whole thing was from every angle available. Even as he did his damnedest _not_ to think about it, he’d already tried out every flavor of _dear god no_ and _how could this happen_ and _it can’t be_  that there was. 

And frankly, he was exhausted.

This couldn’t happen with Cas. It wouldn’t happen. It probably _shouldn’t_ happen.

Alright. Yes. Fine.

But maybe...

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Were things really that different now?

Sure, he wished that there was no one else here at the moment, and he wished that he could just pull the car over to the shoulder, and he wished that he could just shove Cas into the door and find out whether that scruff on his neck was as rough as it looked—

Yes. That.

But aside from that, he still cared about Cas. And he’d always cared about Cas. Now there was just… more.

 _Years! It's been_ _years_ _!_

Now he just… understood.

It was insane all the shit he understood since his little epiphany. Well, epiphanies. Well, maybe it was more like one _really_ long, drawn-out realization.

He glanced in the rearview mirror, catching his little brother’s almost comically slack jaw as he snored away in the backseat, and he felt a pang of guilt about how he’d dumped all of that on Sam. He hadn’t meant to, he hadn’t meant to say _anything, ever_ to Sam, but it had all just… tumbled out. Some of it shit he hadn't even really realized before it was just spilling out everywhere.

_Well it had to come from somewhere _

Right. None of this was really… new. Just new to him. Nothing had really… _changed_ or anything.

Dean stole a glance across the bench, suddenly acutely aware of Cas sitting just a foot or so away.

~~This shit doesn't work~~

Dean planted has gaze firmly back on the road ahead of him.

Nothing had changed. Nothing would change. And nothing _should_ change.

...But that look Cas had given him in Sioux Falls...

_I will always come to protect you, Dean._

His eyes flicked to the side again. Goddamn… Cas was _right there._ Right there, and very much awake.

The question almost fell from his lips right then— to ask what the fuck that look was about, to ask why he kept _saying_ shit like that.

To ask what Cas’d stopped himself from saying, to ask why Cas was worried about him, to ask why he wanted to stay around the bunker, to ask why his damned _stares_ had changed lately— But Dean caught all those questions, covering the small noise they made in his throat with a slight huff and a shift in his seat. He caught them, and he shoved them all right back down.

Because Dean was a weaker man than he’d thought, and because he was also a coward.

Because he couldn't bear to hear Cas’s answers. Because he already knew what they were, or really, what they weren’t. And somehow, hearing it out loud— or worse, hearing it in a horrified silence— that just wasn't something Dean could take. Not now, maybe not ever.

Dean already knew Cas didn’t care for him in quite the same way...

...but maybe that was okay.

Maybe he could deal with that.

Maybe he could make this work.

This was just… how he felt. How he’d felt for a long time, apparently. This was just how things were. He’d dealt with it for this long, why couldn’t he just… keep dealing with it?

Yeah. Maybe this could be okay.

He was pulled from his stream of thought when Cas began to fidget next to him.

“What’s wrong, Cas?” Dean asked.

“Oh, ah— Nothing.”

Dean waited for Cas to actually answer him.

“We’re just… about to lose the radio.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And, um… Well...”

The corner of Dean’s mouth tipped up a fraction. “Check the glove compartment, Cas.”

Cas did, and his smile was enough to give Dean a drop of that warmth he’d been pushing away for weeks.

Because Cas pulled out a cassette with no tape, its thin cord wrapped carefully around it.

“Stuck it in there when I got back from the east coast so I couldn’t forget it again,” Dean said as Cas set up the device that allowed his phone to play music through the tape deck. “Now, gimme some a' that crazy stuff you like so much, Cas. Thinkin’ I need somethin’ different right now.”

Cas beamed at such broad permission and quickly pulled up a song. Almost too quickly, Dean thought, but he shrugged it off. Maybe Cas just had a playlist he wanted to hear.

[ A playful beat ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fI18dh3Kh9I) came forth to join the two of them, slowly building to a quick snap of drums.

And then,

Simple as that,

There it was.

*Motherfucker,* Dean breathed.

 

His goddamned earworm.

 

 _“I like that you’re broken,_  
_Broken like me,_  
_Maybe that makes me a fool,_  
_I like that you’re lonely,_  
_Lonely like me,  
I could be lonely with you...”_

As though he’d been listening to it all his life, Dean found himself singing along— just quietly, under his breath. And out of the corner of his eye he saw Cas nodding along to the beat, that little smile never dropping from his face.

 _“...Life is not a love song, that we like,_  
_We’re all broken pieces, floating by,_  
_Life is not a love song, we can try,  
To fix our broken pieces, one at a time…”_

And for just a moment, everything was allowed to be okay. Sure, the song was... a bit on the nose... But hell, knowing Cas, he was probably taking the lyrics so literally he was blowing right past the innuendo and landing back on platonic. Dean could already imagine it: He'd flash Cas a smile and ask if he _liked_ him, and Cas would come right back with one of his patented little squinty faces and say something like, 'Of course I like you, Dean, you're my friend.'

The image was enough to bring a chuckle to his lips. No, the song wasn’t perfect, but hey, what the fuck in his life _was_ right now? It was good enough. Good enough for right now. And Dean was able to just let himself enjoy it.

Because he knew he could do this.

Because he could make this work.

When the song was over, he and Cas built up a queue together, and the rest of the ride passed them in a warm blur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *happily singing along as the music plays out*  
> There you have it, the second quarter! And this is the second intermission. Take a break, stretch out, get a snack! Or don't! I'm not your supervisor
> 
> Alright, ready? Then off we go again!


	9. Chapter 9

 

_He had hoped he would never see him again, yet here he is. Great and terrifying as ever. He screams at the humans to cover their eyes, but there is no way they could hear him now._

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

When they got back from Chicago, you could almost say things went back to normal.

Sure, Cas and Bris still weren’t speaking, and Sam thought Dean’s beer runs might have increased in frequency, and Direl was obviously heartbroken, and of course _Ketch_ was still slinking around the bunker— but at least Bris had stopped tensing at Cas’s very presence, and Direl hadn't withdrawn completely, and Dean had actually taken an interest in those cases Sam had found the week before.

So much of an interest, in fact, that he had declared a few of them worth a proper investigation, and suggested they head out again only a day after they’d returned.

“When’s the last time we had an easy salt-n-burn, huh?” Dean had said with a grin, though Sam couldn’t help thinking it seemed strained.

So they went. And it was nice. A good old woman-in-white, made all the easier to draw out when she mistook Direl for her spurring lover.

But when the hunt was over, instead of heading back for some rest, Dean pulled out the list again.

“Vampire nest causing trouble over near Dayton,” Dean had said as he pulled the car onto the highway. “You guys ever taken down a vampire?” he asked the selkies, “It’s a blast.”

And it actually was. Well, up until one particularly fast one almost got Sam by the neck. But Bris was faster.

She spat at the vampire’s severed head as it rolled across the floor.

“Got people claiming their loved ones are robbing them all over this one little town,” Dean had said once everyone was cleaned up. “Security footage says it all, those eyes scream Shapeshifter.”

That one was downright easy. Cas had taken it out with a single stab to the heart, though Dean stuck the corpse with a silver blade as well, just to be sure.

“So who’s up for a Werewo—”

“Dean.”

Dean met Sam’s eyes as they sat across a table in a diner, “Yeah? What’s up, Sammy?”

Sam tipped his head at Bris and Direl as they ate, “We’re getting a little beat here. Don’t you think we should take a break? We haven’t been home for more than a day at a time all week.”

“Oh.” Dean fiddled with a fry on his plate, spinning it endlessly in his ketchup. “Well, um, sure! Yeah! We can head home for a while… sure.”

And so they went, and Sam did his best to ignore the missing bottles from the liquor cabinet.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Lord above, this last week had been _murder_.

Bris stepped into the shower room in the bunker, setting her change of clothes aside as she ran the water to heat up.

If that was their typical pace when they weren’t waiting around for the big jobs, well then it was no wonder Sam was such a brawny fella. Goodness, Bris might have to start... _lifting weights_ or some crap just to keep up. At least running with Sam was getting easier by the week, but that alone sure wasn't gonna keep her fit to lob those machetes around.

Bris stepped into the shower, and let the hot water soothe her aching bones.

She wondered if this was going to be their new normal. If it was, it was certainly going to be the craziest bout of settling down that she’d ever had. Before, when she’d taken a proper spouse, the worst she’d ever had to protect them from might have been bad storms on the sea, or trifling neighbors, or in one case, their own inane bullheadness— but this was a whole ‘nother can of worms.

She knew she had told Sam that she was up for all this, that she knew what kinda shit she had signed up for, but—

The teeth on that vampire flashed across her vision and she dropped her shampoo.

Stooping to pick up the bottle, she grumbled that she was overreacting. They’d been fine. Sure she’d had some trepidation about taking out those… monsters. They had just looked so… normal. Until the teeth came out of course. But she reminded herself that the boys had been doing this for a long time, they knew when a monster needed to be taken out, and those vampires had hurt a lot of people.

Had almost hurt Sam.

But she’d gotten the better of that nasty fucker, and she’d get the better of all them nasty fuckers out there. Weren’t no one gonna hurt Sam, not so long as she still drew breath.

Soap suds ran over a barely-scabbed gash on her arm. She hissed and rinsed it quickly.

But there sure were a lot of nasty fuckers out there.

She gritted her teeth and cranked the temperature, letting the near-scalding water run over her shoulders to carry those thoughts away. And it did, but of course something else came up to take their place.

_When it comes to other’s problems you got love aplenty..._

Damn it all, she scolded herself, she shoulda talked to Inas about that. Because months ago now Inas had told her to be happy, had told her that even if he wasn’t intended for her, even if Sam didn’t need no fixin’, that she should be happy with him, damn it. And Bris wanted to. She wanted so bad to just listen to Inas and to just be fuckin’ happy for the next forty- or fifty-odd years of her life.

But Inas didn’t know about Dean.

Even now she could hear the cry of his heart. Not as deafening as before, in fact, right now it was almost quiet, ringing hollow with whispered whimpers across the bunker, but still she heard it, and _still_ it pulled at her, even though it absolutely shouldn’t.

She sure as fuck didn’t want Dean, and Dean didn’t want her neither— he’d told her so, flat-out to her face. So it was more than certainly not her place to help him, and the pull should have faded long ago. It always had before. _Direl_ wasn’t feeling it anymore. He could still see and hear his heart, of course, but he’d said the _pull_ had faded for him just shortly after Dean had rejected his first ‘strategic’ advances.

But it wasn't fading for her. If anything it had gotten stronger over the last few weeks, echoing right alongside words ingrained into her since childhood: Selkies have a Purpose on this Earth, to help those what need ‘em. Trust in the Lord and the Fates, she’d been told, and you'll find where you're meant to be.

Bris found herself remembering the look in Dean’s eyes once he’d gotten back from picking up his car... and the one when Gabriel had left. Like there was... nothing. Just nothing there. Nothing left…

She rubbed the bar of soap into her skin with more force than necessary. No. Inas had told her to be happy. So damn it all, she was gonna be happy. Fuck Purpose. Fuck Fate. She was with Sam now, she was free of all that and weren’t no one gonna drag her back in.

She continued her shower, her mind settled solidly down on that decision. As she scrubbed at her skin, though, she felt a pain inside her, and it took a glance down at the drain to realize it wasn’t anything to do with her turmoils, but instead something far simpler. She watched as a thin curl of red spiraled through the water at her feet.

An unexpected heavy sigh fell from her and she braced herself against the wall, knees going weak with sheer relief.

She finished her shower and stepped out, feeling leagues better than she had just a few minutes ago.  

As she toweled her hair, though, she wiped the fog from the mirror and caught a glimpse of what Inas must have seen: the worry lines setting in, the stiffness in her shoulders, the permanent crease in her brow.

_You’re gonna need friends aplenty when the hard times comes. ...Promise to do better tomorrow._

She tried to shove those thoughts aside, but as she picked up a second towel for her hair, she caught another look at the unhealed cut on her arm, and she sighed.

Inas was right. Inas was always right. This weren’t no way to live.

She found herself a tampon, dressed, and headed for the kitchen. Bris had many problems that she couldn’t do anything about, but there was at least one that she could.

 

———

 

Sam was pacing in the gym, the weight he meant to be practicing with sitting untouched across the floor.

This morning had been nice enough for a run outside, and as usual Bris had left afterwards for a shower to leave Sam to his practice. That, at least, was normal.

What wasn’t normal was this storm in Sam’s mind.

All this week he had tried to do things the way they always had. And things should have been fine like that. They’d had a team of _five_ for these hunts, these _tiny_ little hunts. Things should have been easy. Things should have been a breeze. And they had... But they hadn’t. Not exactly.

Sure, Direl had drawn out that woman-in-white, but he'd almost been frozen to death before they managed to find the right grave.

Sure, Cas had stabbed that shapeshifter, but Dean had almost been taken out by accident in the process.

And sure, that vampire nest had gone down fast, but that one that had gotten behind him—

Sam tripped on the edge of one of the ancient mats on the floor.

Thank god Bris had been there. Thank god she could handle a machete. But if she didn’t— If she hadn’t—

Sam sharply shook his head. No, he told himself, she _had_ been there. Everything _had_ been fine.

...Until it almost wasn’t.

Without his permission, he found his hand had pulled his phone from his pocket and he was staring down at a particular contact.

He already did plenty of magic.

Jody and Donna did magic.

Sometimes even Dean did magic.

He shoved his phone back in his pocket. That wasn’t the same.

The way they hunted had worked for a long time. How many years with Dad? How many years with Dean? And everything had been fine.

Well, except for the uncountable injuries.

And, of course, all the times they'd each... died.

Sam couldn't help but wonder, as he continued his pacing, just how much longer they could they keep pushing their luck. How much longer until something finally went irrevocably wrong?

Again, he found himself looking at his phone.

_A witch_

The thought sent a chill up his spine. God, what gave them more grief than _witches?_ How many had he had to chase down over the years? How many had he had to take out?

He wondered how many had been Borrowers, and how many had been “naturally talented.”

He didn't know if there was a way to tell, but the more he thought about it, the more he remembered.

Not every witch he’d ever encountered had been bad. They’d even worked _with_ a few good witches in the past. What had that one called her style? White magic?

Maybe… Maybe that was what Sam could do. All he wanted was to be better. To be safer. What was a few more spells under his belt, especially if he was already inclined toward it?

His thumb hovered over the green phone.

 

...Dean was going to hate this.

 

Sam took a deep breath,

And hit the call button.

 

———

 

**Ca-clink**

Cas jumped in his seat, his eyes snapping up to Bris from the squat bottle and full tumbler she’d set on the library table. Bris just looked back at him in kind, her face set and her shoulders back.

“I wanna talk, Castiel.”

He immediately pushed out the chair next to him, eyes glued to her as she sat down, his whole demeanor filled with a disbelief and a wariness that stung her.

Bris sat. She exhaled a long sigh through her nose, running her hands down her thighs.

She clenched her fists, and said, “Jus’ tell me why.”

“I wanted to help,” Cas answered immediately.

A sharp stab of bitter rage leapt up, threatening to burst from her. She took up her tumbler and tossed back a mouthful, smothering that response with this cheap American whiskey they were so well stocked on. She clutched the glass tightly in an effort to continue holding her tongue and allow Cas to go on.

“That whole week, things were finally going so well. After what I did, the mistakes I had made,” his hands twitched in his lap, “I intended to _show_ you all… You’re all so important to me, but none of you could see it. So what I did— what I did to _you…_ I was trying to help you the same as everyone else.”

Bris shut her eyes and slowly sighed. Surely it couldn't be so simple.

She tried to keep her voice even as she asked,  “An’ I s’pose… ye jus’ didn’t think it through?”

Cas ducked his head, “I thought I did, but I see now that I didn’t. I wanted to ease your pains and bring you comfort, but instead I only hurt you.”

“Yeah, it, ah… It cut real deep there.”

“And I’m so sorry—” he reached out a hand, but froze and pulled it back.

“I…” She took another breath to steady herself. She reached out to take Cas’s hand in her own, resting it on her knee. “I accept yer apology.”

She shifted her gaze down and looked into his chest, wanting to see how he truly reacted to that. The wound was still there, sitting front and center at the moment, and it did fade some as she watched, but it looked like this one would become a wound that would never truly disappear, and that gave Bris some reassurance.

Cas squeezed her hand tighter and leaned forward, meeting her eyes, “I abused my capabilities as an angel. I made an assumption about what you would want, and I can promise I will never do such a thing to you, or to anyone else ever again.”

She nodded, “Yeah, ah, good place to start there, but...” She looked down at their hands, and was reminded of the cut on her forearm, peeking out from under her sleeve. “I just... I just don’t knows that I can forgive it yet.”

He nodded solemnly. “I understand. And know that I will do everything I can to earn that forgiveness.”

The corner of her mouth tipped up and she squeezed his hand in return. “I knows ye will, Cas, I knows ye will.”

With another sip off her glass, she let the harsh burn clear her head of the heaviness that had settled there. She took her other hand back from Cas, and gestured at the bottle still sitting on the table. “Well?”

Cas looked between her and the bottle, “Well what?”

“Well, what’s it say? Lay it on me, Snapples.”

His eyes flashed wide and he practically jumped for the drink. As he opened it, Bris didn’t stop the grin that wanted to spread on her lips, and readily traded her glass for the offered bottle.

Inas was right. Inas was always right. This felt _much_ better.

Cas held the cap up and read: “‘President Herbert Hoover and his wife were fluent in Mandarin Chinese and used it to speak privately in the White House’.”

Bris giggled at that, “Oh! Boy, wouldn’t that be grand!”

“Why?” Cas asked, his head tilting.

“Well, see, I only speak Gaeilge with the family, ye know? An’ right now that’s jus’ Direl.” She slung an arm over the back of her chair. “Sam’s learnin’ an' all, but it’ll be a long while ‘fore he’s talkin’ the talk. I jus’ miss it sometimes, ye know?”

Cas fidgeted with the cap. “Well… um…”

“What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

 _“Tá Gaeilge ag mo thoil agam,”_ he informed her. _(I have Gaeilge at my will/I speak Gaeilge)_

She popped back up with a wide grin and teasing shove, _“Dún do chlab,_ _i ndáiríre? (Shut your mouth, seriously?)_ Ye damned angel, why didn’t you ever say so!?”

“I as—” He winced. “I assumed English was your preferred language.”

“Well, sure, with the boys!” She slipped back into Gaeilge, _“But this is wonderful!”_

Cas smiled for the first time since she sat down.  _“Would you like to speak it with me more often?”_

 _“In God’s name, yes!”_ she giggled.

Cas fidgeted with the cap again, _“This is a fortunate coincidence. There was a concern— if it is alright— there was a concern I hoped to speak to you about. A concern I would prefer stayed private.”_

 _“Oh, is that so?”_ Bris asked with a cheeky grin, already certain where this was headed.

 _“Yes, I…”_ he looked down to his lap, _“I have a problem. Gabriel couldn’t help, and you were the only one who I thought I could go to...”_ His head snapped up.  _“Not that I think Sam wouldn't do his best to help, or that Direl doesn’t also have the expertise, but—”_

 _“No, no, I understand, Cas.”_ She reached out to squeeze his hand.

He narrowed his eyes, _“You do?”_

“Ach—” she winced. _“You see… Gabriel was worried about you...”_

Cas pursed his lips.  _“So he went to you.”_

_“He did, but he didn’t exactly give the full story. So if you still want to tell me what’s going on, I will listen with a clear mind.”_

Cas smiled at her again. He set the cap on the table so he could take her free hand in both of his, and began recounting what was troubling him.

And as he did, Bris found she just couldn’t keep that growing smirk off her face.

Because in the course of solving one problem, she may well have found the solution to another.

 

———

 

####  **Cough Syrup**

  _“Life's too short to even care at all, o-o-oh,_ _  
_ _I'm losin’ my mind, losin’ my mind, losin’ control,_ _  
_ _These fishes in the sea they're starin’ at me, o-o-oh oh o-oh oh,_  
_A wet world aches for a beat of a drum, o-o-oh o-oh,”_

Dean was in the garage with Baby up on the lift, just finishing up the process of cleaning the road salt from her undercarriage.

 _“If I could find a way to see this straight, I'd run away,_  
_To some fortune that I, I, should have found, by now,_  
_I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come down, come down,”_

Every pipe, every fluid line, every nut and bolt was being meticulously detailed, all while his little speaker valiantly tried to fill the cavernous garage with sound:

 _"Life's too short to even care at all, o-o-oh_  
_I'm coming up now coming up now out of the blue, o-oh_  
_These zombies in the park they're lookin' for my heart o-o-oh oh o-oh oh,_  
_A dark world aches for a splash of the sun, o-o-oh o-oh..."_

And it was good, he was quiet.

_"...And so I run to the things they said could restore me,  
_ _Restore life the way it should be,  
_ _I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come down..."_

Once he got Baby lowered to the floor, however, Dean found himself without a task. This had only eaten up half the day, and he could already feel the tension wanting to settle in. He snatched his speaker from the workbench and made his way back into the bunker.

He made it up the stairs, started down the hallway, and— oh... holy cow. Maybe Sam had a point. If he couldn’t even get up the stairs without it feeling like Douglas was standing on his chest, maybe he really _should_ ease up on the burgers a bit. He wasn’t going to, but maybe he should.

He stopped in his room to grab his headphones. Just the headphones though, the bottle in there had been empty since last night.

Dean had held off on his usual beers this morning so he could really focus on Baby, but now, man, he just needed a drink. Something to take this edge off.

He passed right through the library into the kitchen, barely lifting a hand to greet Cas and Bris at the table.

 _“...If I could find a way to see this straight, I'd run away,_  
_To some fortune that I, I, should have found, by now..."_

Going straight to the fridge, he pulled out a beer.

But he frowned at it.

It was placed back on the shelf and a tumbler was pulled from the cabinet instead. He gave himself two… maybe a generous two… okay, three fingers of whiskey to take back into the library.

Cas saw him first, and for just a second Dean thought he saw his eyes widen as he approached, but Cas didn’t stop talking— barely even seemed to notice his presence, actually— so Dean decided he’d imagined it, and put it out of his mind.

He told himself he wasn’t stung at all by the relative cold shoulder. Cas was obviously just busy with Bris, that was all.

Besides, he… he didn't really want to think about Cas right now.

Dean intended to sit at the chair in front of his laptop, still here on the library table from whatever he had been doing last night, but before he could take his seat he heard… What the fuck _was_ he hearing? It was like… Well to Dean, it sounded like Bris was doing a terrible impression of the Swedish Chef. Or speaking backwards. Maybe both.

Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to sit around and listen to it, so he took his laptop in hand and left for the map room.

As his computer booted up, he pulled his phone from his pocket and switched from his little speaker to his headphones.

But even as the music blasted in his ears, he didn’t really hear whatever was playing. He just let the sound wash over him, “liking” whatever jived with his mood and skipping the rest. He didn’t know what kind of station he was building, didn't really care, he just knew it was about all he had to stave off the vast silence of the bunker.

Because whatever he might have told Sam, Dean hadn’t wanted to come back from their hunting trip. Things had been going… well not _good,_ but better out on the road. The cases had been distracting, filling up his time and pushing off his thoughts, but now they were back and he was stuck here. Stuck without a plan. Stuck without anything to do. Sam was in charge of finding Gabriel, and lord knows Dean wasn’t about to get him all pissy by messing around in that, so instead Dean decided he was going to research some more cases from that list. _Actually_ research those cases.

He opened his browser and downed a mouthful of whiskey, wishing the damned pressure in his chest would just let up already.

Working some cases would be good. And hey, maybe if no one else wanted to go, he’d just head out himself. Solo hunting, yeah, he hadn’t done that in a while. Some time to himself, no one around to bother him, no one to _nag_ at him about _talking_ to people. No one but him. On his own... Alone...

You know, maybe that wouldn’t be the best idea. Now that he thought about it, that might actually be worse.

So maybe… Maybe he could convince someone else to come with.

_Bet Cas would want to come_

He tabled his immediate reaction— punching that voice in its goddamned face— and actually considered that.

He wanted this new... _situation_ with Cas to work, right? He wanted things to go back to the way they were before he’d taken this shit-show of a trip down self-discovery creek. He wanted to go back to easy, back to nice. Back to normal. Because Cas was still his best friend, that hadn’t changed and it never would, no matter how much bullshit there was. So if he wanted normal, it only made sense that the best way to do that would be to _act_ normal... right?

Dean nodded to himself as he reached for his phone. Yeah, he could do that. He’d just act like he always had before, and normal would be sure to follow.

He turned his music down just a little, one less worry thrumming in his skull.

 

———

 

Sam was standing in the gym.

And now so was Rowena.

“So you’ve changed your mind,” she said with a look that was far too close to smug for Sam’s liking.

“I might have,” he answered curtly.

“Might?” She arched one eyebrow.

“Might. I want to try…” he waved a hand between them, “this.”

“You know we might not have _time_ for ‘try,’ Sam.”

“I—!” He let his eyes shut and inhaled through his nose before opening them again. “Rowena, it’s this or nothing at all, and that’s final.”

She just rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue, _“Fine,_ fine, we’ll do it your way. Baby steps until you see what you’ve been missin’ out on all this time.”

“Baby steps,” Sam said with a nod. “Yeah.”

He glanced around the room, shifting on his feet.

“So… Now what?”

That smug look returned.

“Now...” she summoned a spell bowl and a heavy book to her hands, “we start with the basics.”

 

———

 

When Cas finished explaining his situation to Bris, he expected the same kind of reaction Gabriel had given him: Some confusion, a bit of concern perhaps, but certainly not the giddy smile that graced Bris’s face.

 _“My boy, I have some fabulous news,”_ she said.

_“What?”_

_“You,”_ she took him by the shoulders, _“have placed your heart in another.”_

 _“What?”_ he asked more urgently, glancing down at his chest.

Bris rolled her eyes. “You’re in love, ye langer.”

“Oh,” Cas looked down to the floor, _“yes, that’s what Gabriel said, too...”_

 _“Hold on,”_ she narrowed her eyes at him.  _“Why do you look like I just told you that you have a disease?”_

 _“I had hoped…”_ he started, but he trailed off and left her question unanswered. Instead he drew himself up straight and met her eyes, _“I came to you because I believe you’re a qualified expert on this subject. If Gabriel was right, then I need to know how to fix this.”_

 _“But— Wait,_ _no_ _!”_ She recoiled from him, one palm raised and the other laid over her heart.  _“What in the Lord’s name put it into angels’ heads that this is a_ _disease_ _that needs to be_ _fixed_ _?”_

 _“Bris, we— I—”_ Cas looked around the room, ensuring that since Dean had left they were still alone. He leaned close and said low, _*This isn’t exactly… it's not… allowed.*_

_“Not allowed!?”_

He winced at her volume.

 _“Sorry,”_ she said. _“So— wait— Not allowed by who? Are you saying there’s some sort of_ _rule_ _out there against_ _love_ _?”_

 _“Well, no… It’s not… “_ Cas glanced away and gathered his thoughts. This wasn’t something he should speak of to her, but he needed her help, and she couldn’t help if she didn’t understand. He hoped he could be forgiven for this transgression. _“You see— Father has always asked the angels to Love. He asked us to Love Him, to Love his Creations, and most importantly, to Love Humanity, above all else. ...But not... humans.”_

She raised an eyebrow.  _“Only humans.”_

_“There is… We’re sworn to an Oath. Among such things as loyalty to the Host we are sworn not to lie with humans. The children of angels and humans are... particularly problematic.”_

_“Children?”_ She gave him a skeptical look, _“Wait, is this about sex?”_

_“Primarily, yes.”_

_“I thought we were talking about love.”_

Cas tipped his head at her.

 _“...Which we didn’t really know angels could feel before, right,”_ she rubbed her temples and sighed, _“I have to be honest, I’m not sure I can fully understand what you’re going through here, but… damn, okay, I’m trying.”_

Cas shrank a little, but still managed a small appreciative smile.  _“Thank you.”_

Bris leaned forward and put her chin in her hand.  _“So love Humanity, but not humans,”_ she tried to parse out.  _“_ _But_ _love in the first place isn’t the problem.”_

_“Well, I wouldn’t think… I don’t think this would be any more welcome. It’s not only the children. To lie with humans, to Fall and involve yourself with them is… Perhaps it’s enough to say that enforcement of the Oath has never been a delicate affair.”_

_“Enforcement.”_

Cas nodded.

She looked at him for a heavy moment.

_“Well I’ll tell you something, the more you tell me about this Oath, the more it sounds like a giant load of horseshit.”_

Cas sputtered, his eyes flying wide, _“It’s Father’s_ _Will_ _! One of the last things He ever told us—!”_

_“Please. Sounds like the same shit the Church tried to shove down my throat back in school. ‘Man shalt not lie with man’ and all that crap.”_

_“Father doesn't scorn any sexual orientation—”_

_“But he scorns this? Yes, like I said, a load of horseshit.”_

Cas furrowed his brow at the floor.

_“Besides, it sounds like you’ve already broken it, so why are you still letting it hold you back?”_

_“I haven't br—!” H_ e stopped and narrowed his eyes.  _“What do you mean?”_

She pointed around the bunker. _“Seems to me that you're far_ _more loyal to these boys and to Earth than you are any angels. You’re quite a bit involved with humans as it is. And I know you’ve defied your Father’s Word before. Many times before. Sam’s told us about all the things that have happened since the Apocalypse, and your actions speak loud and clear.”_

Cas slumped further into his seat.  _“I hoped he wouldn’t bring up my past if you discussed that…”_

_“Couldn’t really tell the story without it. You’re quite the player on this chessboard we have here.”_

Cas kept his gaze on the floor.

 _“Cas…”_ Bris reached a hand out to his shoulder.  _“From what Sam said, I understand why you did what you did. If I thought you’d done something terrible, do you really think I wouldn’t simply tell you so?”_

Cas couldn’t help a small smile.  _“No. Certainly you of all people would tell me.”_

 _“That’s right,”_ she nodded, taking her hand back. _“And I think it’s for the best anyway. Sam says your Father is gone, that he up and left you all to fend for yourselves. Again.”_

_“He… It would seem so.”_

_“So what are you afraid of?”_ she tossed up her hands, _“What’s he going to do, smite you?”_

Cas fidgeted with his hands.  _“Well no... He’s never smote anyone Himself, the angels have always carried out his wishes. It’s always been the Seraphs’ task to enforce the Oath.”_

_“Exactly! See? Who’s going to stop you!”_

_“Well, the other Seraphs, if they found out. And they might not only come after me.”_

Bris’s expression softened, _“Cas, I’ve heard the tales, I’ve seen you in action. There is no one in any realm that can stop you when someone threatens what you care about. You’re a stubborn man in the best way, and I know you’d never allow anyone to hurt the ones you love.”_

 _“That’s…”_ he shook his head, _“Bris, that’s part of the problem…”_

_“What?”_

Cas looked away from her as memories played in his mind, Ishim’s harsh words as he perched over Lily Sunder ringing out over the others.

_“Love is dangerous for angels, Bris. I have seen what this can do when it takes hold—”_

_“So you_ _have_ _known angels that fell in love before!”_

Cas slumped. _“I have. Gabriel has not,”_ he explained. _“And that’s a good thing. If Gabriel knew what this does to us... It drives us to awful things, Bris. If what I feel is love, then I fear for the safety of us all.”_

Bris lifted her chin, looking at him carefully. _“‘Awful things’ like anger, and jealousy? Obsession and violence?”_

 _“Yes!”_ Cas breathed through a smile of relief, _“Yes, you_ _do_ _understand! Bris, you saw me before I entered Hell, you saw what this has already impelled me to. When I was there, I almost…”_ Dean’s pain as he took Cas’s hand flashed across his mind, his horror and fear when he realized Cas intended to harm him and Sam, his _begging_ for Cas to stop— _“I don’t want to hurt_ _anyone_ _, Bris. So how do we fix it?”_

 _“Cas…”_ she looked at him with what might be pity, _“dearie, that isn’t unique to angels.”_

Cas drew back, _“What?”_

_“Love can do that to anyone, it’s a powerful thing. If not handled carefully, it can warp and twist even the kindest heart.”_

_“Then— Well—”_ he sputtered, “ _Well, all the more reason to—!”_

 _“Cas,”_ she cut him off, _“I’m not going to help you ‘fix’ this.”_

Cas’s eyes went wide. Then his brows crossed in anger, _“Bris, I told you, this has proven to be a terrible threat. This is_ _dangerous_ _. I am a_ _danger_ _to all of you when I'm overcome with it—!”_

 _“Do you think you’re the first person to ever fall in love?”_ she cut him off again.  _“Do you think Sam and I are barely managing not to completely fall apart at any minute? Yes, it’s a heady feeling at the start, and if you’re not careful it can become dark, but when it’s good... Cas, you’re asking me to cut you off from one of the greatest feelings there is, I could never deny that to anyone. The rush at the start, the euphoria in the middle, and that calm you mentioned— now that’s where the good stuff lies This settles out, and the world becomes a better place for it. So I’m telling you, this isn’t a problem. This_ _won’t_ _be a problem. Not for you. You’re a strong man, Castiel, I can_ _see_ _it."_ She pointed at his chest. _“You’re a strong man, a_ _good_ _man.”_

Cas opened his mouth—

_“And I’ll take no argument about that, I know what I see. There isn’t a single malicious swirl or warped whisp in your heart.”_

Cas looked down at his own chest.

 _“Your heart is going to go where it will go,”_ she leaned forward to place a hand on his knee, _“and I know you'll be ready to follow where it leads.”_

Cas met her eyes, blazing with a fire so strong it threatened to consume the doubts holding him back, and he had to look away, _“But what if… what if my heart is wrong? What if what Ishim felt wasn’t love at all? Gabriel said that no other angels feel what I do, that we_ _can’t_ _. Father said we_ _shouldn’t_ _—”_

 _“_ _Horseshit_ _,”_ Bris spat with such venom that Cas jerked back.  _“All of that matters about as much as air to a fish._ _You_ _feel this, and what you’re feeling is_ _real_ _, and there’s absolutely_ _nothing_ _wrong with what you feel, no matter what anyone says— not your family, not your Oath— there is_ _never anything_ _wrong with love, no matter who it’s for. So if that’s all that’s stopping you, I say you put aside that rubbish talk, wish a shroud on that_ _hypocrite_ _Oath, and follow what you’re after!”_

Cas shrank back, his eyes darting away from hers.

She slumped.  _“That’s not all that’s stopping you, is it?”_

 _“No.”_ Cas shook his head.  _“Even if I took your advice, even if I chose to… to forsake my Oath and embrace these feelings… This other person… they wouldn’t be receptive to it in the first place.”_

Bris outright snorted at that, gripping the edge of the table for support.

Cas narrowed his eyes at her.  _“I don’t see how that’s funny.”_

 _“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”_ she said, getting a hold of herself, _“It’s just… Cas, I know it’s Dean. From the breast of God, I’ve known you were smitten with him since the day I met you.”_

Cas drew back, glaring down at his chest as though cursing its betrayal.

_“Hm? Oh, no, I can’t see it’s him from all that. It’s just terribly obvious, dearie.”_

_“Oh.”_ His brow lowered again, _“I still don’t see how that’s funny.”_

 _“Well—” S_ he stopped. _“How about this, why do you think he wouldn’t accept your feelings? Do you not think he swings that direction?”_

 _“Swings what direction?”_ Cas asked. _”Is that an idiom? Is that an English_ _idiom?”_

 _“I don’t— Maybe? What’s an idiom? No, wait—!”_ she held up a finger as he opened his mouth, _“Don’t get me off track. Look— what did you think I meant when I said he wasn’t picky?”_

_“That he wasn’t particularly selective with his romantic partners.”_

_“God save us, no, he’s_ _so_ _fucking picky about that! No, I meant he’s a ponce.”_

_“Oh, well, I knew that. Was it supposed to be a secret?”_

_“Then... Cas, what’s stopping you?”_

_“Well… I’m fairly certain Dean doesn’t want that. It’s been years since he had any partner— not one who was around longer than a night, anyway.”_

Bris scoffed. Then her gaze shifted down to Cas’s chest, and she placed a hand over her heart.  _“Oh, dearie, no… You think he doesn’t want_ _you_ _.”_

Cas’s mouth fell open, but he didn’t have a refuting response. He ducked his head, _“How could he want me?”_

_“How could he not!?”_

_“I…”_ Cas looked down at his hands, _“After all that I’ve done. After all I couldn’t do…”_ He dropped them to his lap.

 _“Cas…”_ she reached out to take his hands in hers.  _“There’s more going on with him than you think. Perhaps you should just try to pay attention when you’re with him. Pay attention to how he acts. I have a feeling you’ll see what I mean for yourself.”_

_“I… suppose I could do that.”_

_“Although… and now I don’t have a lot of experience with this pining business— but it seems like your life would be a whole lot easier if you just_ _said_ _something to him about this.”_

Cas sat bolt upright, _“No! I couldn’t do that!”_

She rolled her eyes, _“I swear, it’s like you boys have a phobia of speaking to each other. Fine then, just watch, Cas. Watch and you will see.”_

Bris stood, releasing Cas’s hands as she looked around the library.  _“Now where on Earth has my man gotten to? He should really be done by now.”_

Cas shrugged, following her up.

 _“I’m going to go find him,”_ she sighed. Then she pointed a finger at Cas, _“Now you remember what I said, and remember that you can always come to talk to me about this. Or anything, Cas, because… because you’re my friend,”_ she stepped up to hug him, _“and I do care for you, even through the mistakes, even when I get my head too far up my own ass.”_

Her embrace surprised Cas, but he quickly returned it, _“I care for you as well, Bris. Thank you for giving me another chance. Thank you for your help.”_

 _“You’re welcome, Cas.”_ She released him and headed for the hallway, suddenly beaming as she pointed back at him, _“Now you better not run off and elope on us! After all this I expect to have a place in the damned wedding party!”_

Cas tilted his head as she disappeared around the corner.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

 

———

 

With a puff of smoke from his bowl, Sam finished the assembly of his spell.

“Excellent!” Rowena praised, “Only took you two tries for that one!”

“Thanks,” Sam said as he admired the cup he’d been able to summon from another room. “Hey, I should probably be getting back soon. But… this was good. I think I’d like to keep going.”

“Aww, Samuel, are you askin’ me on a second date?” she leered.

He glared at her.

“Always so quick to get your underdrawers in a twist!” she raised her palms. “But yes. You’ve made excellent progress today, but you’ve still got a long ways to go yet. Now here,” she held out the book she had brought. “This is a basic spellbook. I already have anythin’ I could need from it, so I want you to take this and study it.”

Sam took it, but he frowned.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ cold feet now.”

“No, it’s just… I’ll have to keep this hidden from Dean.”

 _“Pah._ What’s he matter? This is your business, not his!”

“I know, it’s just... easier this way.”

 _“Fine,”_ Rowena rolled her eyes and waved her hand over the book. The cover morphed from black leather to a boring beige with the title: _A Guide to Demon Management - Fifth Edition._

“Next time we might work on some transfiguration,” she smiled, tapping the book. “Now do your homework, and I’ll expect a call tomorrow when you can get away.” She glanced toward the door, “And do tell that lovely selkie I said hello, won’t you?”

“Which one?”

“Oh, either,” she said, and vanished with a wink.

Sam rolled his eyes at where she had been. As he began to clean up their spellwork, the door opened and Bris entered.

Sam tried to remember whether he had locked that or not as he greeted her with a smile, “Hey, what's up?”

She eyed the spell bowl and ingredients, “Seems I should be askin’ you that.”

Sam tried to school the guilt from his face. “Oh. Yeah. This is just… um…” He straightened up, “Remember all that stuff Rowena said when she helped me, with, you know, this?” His eyes flashed white as he lifted a spare animal bone from the table with a flick of his finger. “Well, she stopped by. Wanted to teach me some things. She says hi, by the way.”

Bris’s brow creased in concern.

“I know, but she's back on our side now. She does that, she flip-flops. You get used to it.”

“‘Kay…” her expression didn't change, “but why do she wanna help you now? Is this somethin’ to do with that fight she were goin’ on about?”

Sam twitched. It was such an obvious question, of course she was going to ask why, but he didn't have an answer ready.

Because how do you explain that you're loosely planning to take down the Devil himself with your on-again/off-again ally who only occasionally betrays you?

Bris’s eyebrow ticked up. He realized he was taking too long to answer and made a snap decision.

“No,” he blurted, and immediately regretted it. “No, I just— asked her to teach me some things. Get a handle on these new abilities, you know?”

It wasn't _technically_ a lie… right?

Bris shrugged. “Alright,” she agreed easily.

The lie dropped into his gut like a stone.

She gave him a quick look up and down, “So is this a new thing? Or you been doin’ this a whiles?”

“Oh, no!” Sam corrected immediately, palms raised, “No, this is new! This is new— just today— not long after you left.”

 _“Hmh,”_ she nodded, and stepped up to the table. "Need some help cleanin' up?" she asked, her concerns apparently sated.

And Sam’s stomach churned, but he told himself this was for the best.

As they left the gym to put away the supplies, Bris asked, “So what’s on yer agenda for today? _Ceacht eile b'fhéidir?” (Another lesson, perhaps?)_

“Neeos djernee. I was hoping to put in some time looking for Gabriel.”

 _“Níos déanaí,” (later)_ she gently corrected. They stopped in their room, leaving their loads of books and bowls there while Sam collected his laptop.

As they made their way back to the library together, Sam made a point to take Bris’s hand and give it a little squeeze. The squeeze he received in return helped to calm him some, and by the time they reached the library, Sam felt much better about the whole thing. He marveled at how well something as small as this could so easily soothe his worries.

Sam sat at the table to open his laptop, but Bris turned back.

“I’ll just be a moment, darlin’,” she said, placing a quick kiss on his cheek, “forgot my book by the bed.”

He hummed shortly in acknowledgement, and glanced up to watch as she left.

Because, well… yeah...

She rounded the corner and Sam smiled to himself, biting his lip slightly as he pulled up his browser.

But before he could run any searches, a noise caught his ear.

It sounded like… tapping. Like a pipe was loose. He looked around the room as though he might see the source of the faint noise.

He didn’t, of course, so he got up and followed it out into the map room where Dean was sitting at the table, headphones over his ears.

Sam rapped the table beside him. “Hey, you hear that?”

Dean pushed off one headphone, a loud, harsh song Sam didn't recognize blasting from it, “What?”

“Do you hear that?”

Dean raised an eyebrow and looked around, “Nope,” and slipped his headphone right back on.

Sam gave a long sigh and continued following the noise. It led him further into the room, up the stairs…

And up to the front door.

*What?* he asked himself. No one ever... _knocked._ No one ever _visited._ Not in years, anyway.

Putting his faith in his protections over the bunker and the gun on his hip, Sam reached out and opened the door.

His weapon was drawn in a second, because what he found on the other side was impossible.

He found flowing brown hair, a soft, long face, and those wide, deep eyes that had drawn him in so long ago. Sam knew he should shoot first and ask questions later, but he couldn’t, his finger stalled on the trigger because on the other side of that door he found—

 

“Eileen.”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to take a quick moment to give proper credit where it’s due. The scenario involving Faeries that you’re about to read in the beginning of this chapter is an idea I adored from Mittenwraith’s fic “[Hurry Up and Wait](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10127084/chapters/22521923)” which is all-around fabulous and I HIGHLY recommend it. Of course, I recommend ALL of Mitten's work wholeheartedly, but there's one specific rec for ya.

 

_These mortals are weak. His brother is weak. He will use this to his advantage. He will have what he has been waiting for._

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

This was impossible.

“We’ve run through all the tests,” Cas was saying somewhere off to his side.

She was dead.

“Nothin’ for silver, holy water...” Dean was saying from the other. “Looks like you’re clean.”

He _saw_ her _body._

“So…” Dean elbowed Sam, making him jump in his chair.

Eileen sat across the map table from them, holding a beer someone had given her.

And Sam couldn’t stop staring.

“I just… H-how?” he finally managed.

Eileen shrugged. “Well I’ve been in hiding.”

“In hiding?”

“Yeah, Sam, I was kinda being hunted down. I needed to hide away from those British assholes.”

“But… they’ve been gone for at least a year now.”

Eileen scoffed, “Yeah, that would have been great to know. I didn’t exactly have a signal in Fairy Land, though.”

Sam sat straighter. Gabriel had said…

“You know about Fairies?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes, “I’m from _Cork,_ Sam—“

He was suddenly reminded of the hand on his shoulder as Bris’s grip tightened sharply.

“—you think I don’t know about the Fae?”

“Yeah, but… I just…”

“Look, don’t worry about it. To make a long, boring story short, I hopped through to their realm and was only able to poke my head out just recently to see if the heat was off. And it looks like it is!” She smiled at them and sipped from her bottle. “But I popped out on the wrong side of the ocean and you guys are some of my only connections here, so…” she shrugged, “surprise!”

“Yeah, surprise…” Sam’s fingers twitched on the table. “So, um… I-I suppose we should get you set up with a room—“

The hand left Sam’s shoulder.

“—while you’re staying.”

“Yes,” Eileen smiled at him, “that would be perfect.”

 

———

 

Cas leaned against the counter as Dean shuffled around the kitchen, gathering a lunch for five out of the meager supplies in the pantry. The little speaker hummed away on the counter as Cas watched him work, ready to hop in if Dean needed.

He didn't know what he was watching _for,_ but he watched all the same.

*Fucking Ketch eating all the fucking food without fucking replacing anything…* Dean grumbled as he haphazardly cut some cheese for crackers. “Why the fuck is he even still here?”

Cas didn’t have an answer, so he didn’t offer one.

“Now we got another mouth to feed, but I bet we’re not gonna ask her to help run credit cards, or heaven forbid, hustle some pool for us.” He sliced even harder into the block.  _“No,_ I bet ol’ Sammy would just tell me that’s _rude.”_

Cas tilted his head and squinted at him. “You don’t seem happy that Eileen is back.”

Dean looked up from the cutting board at Cas, mouth open to respond, but he tensed, and snatched up his glass of whiskey as a redness rose in his cheeks.

It caused Cas to squint further.

But then Dean said, “Cas, when was the last time that someone came back from the dead and it turned out to be a _good_ thing?”

The words punched the air from Cas, and he had to hold back a flinch as his grip tightened on the counter.

Dean noticed anyway. “Shit— Cas— No, I didn’t mean you! Shit— Of course it’s a good thing you came back! I meant like Ketch, or Crowley! Not you!”

Cas willed his heart to slow down. Of course Dean hadn’t meant that like that. Of course. Cas had just misunderstood him. Again.

Dean turned back to the counter as Cas recovered, shoulders hunched and his redness worsening.

Without looking up, Dean held out a hand, offering his phone.

“I’m sorry, Cas. Here. You pick the next song.”

Cas looked between Dean’s profile, hard and lined, and the phone. Carefully, he accepted it, and began scrolling through Dean’s music.

He found a song he liked, one of Dean’s favorites too, and set the phone back on the counter.

But as the guitar faded in, Dean tensed again.

 _“Asked sweet mama, let me, be her kid,  
_ _She said, ‘You might get hurt if you don’t keep it hid’...”_

Dean's voice came low and grumbled, “You were supposed to pick something _you_ wanted to listen to.”

“I did,” Cas answered simply.

Dean took another long sip from his whiskey.

 _“...See my baby tell her, tell her to hurry home,_ _  
_ _Had no lovin’ since, my baby been gone, yeah,_ _  
_ _See my baby, tell her hurry on home,_  
_I ain’t had, Lord, my right mind, since my baby been gone…”_

Cas frowned at Dean’s discomfort. “I told you how much I also enjoy this band.”

Dean just nodded as he set the cheese block aside in exchange for an apple. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you did.”

He continued working in silence. Muscles jumped in his arms as he gripped the knife tightly.

 _“...Squeeze my lemon, ‘til the juice runs down my leg,_ _  
_ _Squeeze it so hard I’ll fall right out of bed,_  
_Squeeze my lemon, ‘til the juice runs down my—”_

“Okay—!” Dean snatched up the phone and paused it, “I take it back, you don’t get to pick the music.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“No,” Dean said quickly. “No I just… I just wanna hear somethin' else.”

Dean reddened further still, but Cas didn't understand why; he hadn’t said anything particularly kind to trigger this response. Perhaps he was going to need to amend his knowledge of what could cause this physical reaction.

“Was it something in the lyrics?” he asked.

“No!” Dean flinched. “Cas— Don’t worry about the words, okay?”

Dean returned the music to the station that had been playing before and dropped his phone on the counter with a clatter. He took up his knife once more, cutting the fruit so harshly he was liable to take a finger off.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

He paused his cutting, shoulders falling now with a sigh. *Dammit, Cas…*

Dean looked down at the food he was preparing. “Fuck it,” he said, and dropped the knife. “If people are hungry they can get their own damn shit.”

He snatched up a bowl and swiped his efforts off the cutting board before sticking the whole thing in the fridge, exchanging it for two beers.

He offered one to Cas, seeming to struggle with his next words. “How about… You wanna watch a movie and get plastered with me?" he said. "Haven’t, um, haven’t done that in a while.”

Cas raised an eyebrow, but took the bottle. “Sam said he doesn’t want me drinking our liquor—”

“Fuck thay,” Dean said as he popped the lid off his drink. “I’m the one who makes the beer runs, and I say you get as much as you want.”

Cas considered his bottle. He pushed the cap off easily with his thumb. “Then, thank you, Dean.”

“No problem, buddy. Come on, what do you wanna watch? I don’t really care.”

 

———

 

Across the bunker, Sam was finally getting Eileen set up in a room. ‘Finally’ because for some reason, every freaking door he tried seemed to be jammed. By the time they'd gone through every door on the main hall and rounded the corner, Sam was so fed up with the damned ancient construction in this bunker that he practically broke the next one down to gain entry.

Now in the empty room, he was trying to be as efficient as possible, but the two of them kept messing up which way the fitted sheet went on the mattress. They worked in a thick silence until Eileen spoke up.

“Sam?”

He started, still not used to hearing her voice, and looked up across the bed at her.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” Sam said, and tugged on the sheet again.

“Sam.”

He looked up again.

“You…  I thought you would be happier to see me.”

He sighed and straightened up, “No, I am, I am happy to see you. I’m glad you’re alive, but—” He ran a hand through his hair before bringing it back to aid his speech with signing. “Eileen, look, this is just… You gotta understand, we saw your body. We _saw_ what that hellhound did to you.”

“I don’t know what they told you—”

“I _saw_ you, Eileen.”

She raised an eyebrow at him as she tugged the sheet. “Well, did you test the body?”

“I… no,” Sam admitted.

She smirked, “Then, see? You can forget about all that. I’m here now, that’s what matters.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, um…Yeah, I guess that’s what matters.” He shook his head, his signing falling slow and loose, “But then… why would they want us to think you were dead?”

She shrugged. “How should I know? Been gone, remember?”

“Yeah…”

Sam was struck by something then. Something was off, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“So what’s been happening while I was gone?” she asked, abandoning the hopeless sheet and placing her hands on her hips. “Anything exciting?”

Oh, that was it.

“Eileen,” he started gingerly, “you’re not— You’re hardly signing anything.”

She stiffened, and looked down to the floor. “Fairies don’t exactly have ASL, Sam. I’m just… out of practice.”

“Right, I’m sorry,” he fumbled again. _Way to go, asshole._ “It, um, must have been hard, being there.”

“Yeah… it… it really was.” She looked up at him with a heavy gaze.

Sam jumped from it. “So—! You, um… you got this from here?” He gestured at the bed. “I-I just mean— I better, um— Yeah— Over there—” he bumbled, bumping into the doorframe as he barely managed to leave.

 

———

 

Bris found him in their room.

“Sam?”

God, he hoped it always felt so good to hear his name on her voice.

“Hey,” he said, and opened his arm so she could sit next to him on the bed.

She seemed to hesitate a moment, but joined him.

He squeezed her tight, leaning in to kiss the top of her head. Sighing into her hair, he said, “I’m sorry.”

She looked up at him, with worry on her face. “For what?”

“For... all of this.” He chuffed. “If there was ever a kind of shit you didn’t sign up for, it’s this. I mean, fuck, _I_ didn’t sign up for this.”

She relaxed, though she still glanced over at his chest. He couldn’t really blame her, but it stung nonetheless.

He lifted his hand to her chin and tipped her face up, bringing her eyes to his. “I love you,” he said.

 _There_ was that smile, smaller than he hoped, but still there and always filling him with warmth. “I love you, too,” she answered quietly.

He leaned in for a kiss, gentle and sweet; filled with the reassurances she didn't want to hear.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

The next days were stressful for everyone.

One obvious source, of course, was Eileen’s continued presence, which was apparently slated to persist indefinitely, as Dean found out one morning.

“So…” he’d asked over a breakfast of heavily buttered toast, “you goin’ back to Ireland?”

 _“Hm?_ Oh, no, I always liked hunting here better.”

“Right. You gonna… do that?”

“I just traveled between dimensions, I’m still getting my bearings again.”

“...Right.”

He finished quickly and headed for the cabinets after depositing his plate in the sink, chest tight and hands shaking this morning as he reached for the amber jug. God damn, he needed this drink today, he was just strung so tight...

He sighed with the first burning drag and headed out into the library, where he encountered another source of that stress: Cas sitting at the far table.

Dean clenched his jaw and straightened up. Maybe today. Maybe he’d ask Cas today. The last few days were too hectic, but today might be good. He’d just slip it in: _Hey, buddy, wanna go hunt a ghost, or whatever...?_ Yeah, that was good. Casual. Normal.

He walked toward Cas at the table.

He could do this. It was just goin’ out to gank some monsters.

Just a hunt.

Together.

Alone.

Normal.

 

...Wait a minute.

 

Cas looked up as he approached, and smiled.

Wait. Shit. Shit, shit, wait— That’s a date! That’s what a date is! Oh shit— Abort mission, abort mission!

Dean turned sharply and rushed to his room.

Cas watched him leave, thoroughly confused.

 

———

 

Sam wasn't faring much better.

Eileen was everywhere. He’d try to work out and she was in the gym doing stretches. He’d try to get some breakfast and she was there making coffee. He’d try to run his searches for Gabriel and she’d take up the chair _right next to him._

Sam knew the stress was starting to show when Rowena of all people brought it up.

“Well you might as well spit it out,” she said after the spell they were working on failed for the third time.

Sam sighed. “Rowena, I don't really want to—”

“Don't much care, Sam, you're impossible to instruct like this. Now out with it.”

Sam sighed again, and set aside his spell book. “It's... It's this whole thing with Eileen. I swear the only place she doesn’t show up is here in these lessons. And of course Bris has noticed. How could she not?.”

“Oh. _‘Course,”_ Rowena scoffed. “I shoulda guessed.”

"What?"

“It's _always_ somethin’ to do with the heart. Love is a messy, awful thing,” she preached alongside a high eyeroll. "Best to avoid it when possible."

“Yeah, okay, this isn't gonna help.” Sam picked up the book again.

“Ach, _fine. Don't_  listen to me,ya stubborn mule. But if you're gonna ignore my wisdom at least get your crap together, won’t you?”

Sam shot her a frown. She just tossed her eyebrows.

She stepped back from him, positioning herself to demonstrate some hand motions. “Now, the thing about these teleportation spells is you gotta know where you’re go— _go…”_ she lost her sentence to a yawn.

Sam raised an eyebrow at her, “You okay there?”

“No, I’m—” another yawn, “I’m fine, dearie. Come on, now, get those hands up.”

Sam looked her over, and now that he actually checked, she did look a bit haggard, with bags under her eyes and everything. “Come on, Rowena, what's up with you?”

"I said, I'm fine—"

"Yeah, I don't think so."

“I’m _fine._ I’m just _tired.”_

“What, Crowley working you too hard?”

“Well that’s just it, innit?  _He_ doesn't have me doin’ anythin’!”

“Then, why are you tired?”

Rowena blinked at him. Then she seemed to remember where she was, and closed off again. “Not about to share the business of Hell with a Winchester.

“How about the business of Rowena with just me?”

She turned to him, surprise on her face.

“You know,” Sam shrugged. “It might help.”

Rowena sized him up. She seemed to try her best to hold it in, but—

“I’m worried about Fergus,” she blurted.

“Oh. Yeah?” Sam encouraged.

She looked up at him, and for a moment he saw her concern and anguish. But in a blink her face shifted, and it was like it was never there. “Yes. And that's all! Now— Come on, let's get back to it.”

So they returned to the lesson. Sam tried to get it, tried so hard to focus, but it was no good. By the end of the lesson Rowena concluded Sam just wasn’t going to pick up teleporting today, and left him with instructions to study various methods before their next meeting.

His day didn’t get better from there.

His search for Gabriel was turning up nothing. So much nothing it was almost like there weren’t _any_ angels on Earth right now besides Cas, and Sam’s hope was beginning to dip.

_We may need to consider the alternatives. ...Gabriel isn’t the only archangel._

Sam shut his eyes against Cas’s suggestion, trying to think of something, _anything_ else.

But of course, just the same as every day since Gabriel had left, Sam had nothing.

Sam needed something. For Mom and for Jack. They needed him to find something. They needed to come home.

So Sam expanded his search to include more… sinister omens… The kind a devil might leave behind.

But even as he knew this was what had to be done, for the first time since Gabriel had left, Sam hoped his searches wouldn’t find anything.

The rest of the day continued just as poorly.

What he couldn’t talk about with Rowena didn’t just go away. He was strained. Bris was strained. But the source wasn’t something he could just fix. It was a person. Someone who had just come back from the de— from the Fairly Realms, and was still recovering. Sam couldn’t be mad at her just because he was a little uncomfortable, just because Sam couldn’t keep Bris happy.

Sam sat himself at the map table to update the list of supplies they needed to stock up on. No, he couldn’t do that. He would just have to suck it up and continue to discreetly avoid her.

His thoughts came to a halt as Eileen plopped down in the chair next to him with a beer in each hand.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Sam winced. _Well shit._ “I-I’m sorry, I just—”

“It’s fine Sam,” she quickly assured him, waving it off. She held out one of the beers. “I even know how you can make it up to me.”

His eyes snapped up to hers.

“You could tell me what I’ve missed around here.”

Sam chuffed with relief, and took the offered bottle. “Yeah. Yeah, I could do that.”

 

———

 

Dean paced in his room.

Okay, so that plan was a bust.

There had to be another way to get back to normal.

Fuck, what even _was_ normal? What did he do _before_ all this bullshit started?

_I don't know, you just kind of... did things. And sometimes those things involved Cas_

Huh. Yeah

_That movie night was nice. Quiet, uneventful. You used to do that more_

Yeah… Yeah! Okay, new plan. Forget the hunts, just do shit with Cas. And sometimes don’t. But like, casual.

Yeah, he could do that...

Dean picked up the bottle next to his bed and poured himself another drink.

...as long as he had enough liquid courage.

 

———-

 

“Wow,” Eileen breathed. “So you went to Hell again.”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah.”

He had allowed himself a couple of beers as his story continued, and their bottles now sat gathered on the table.

“And you rescued an _archangel.”_

“Yeah.”

“Wow,” she said again. “Is he around?”

Sam winced. “Well, no… He... He, um...”

Eileen placed a hand on his forearm, leaning in closer. “Do you want to talk about it, Sam?” she asked, her eyes wide and earnest.

Someone cleared their throat behind them.

Sam startled back, and turned to see Bris in the doorway from the library.

“H-hey, Bris. Hey. What’s up?”

Sam didn’t miss how she tensed looking down at them. “Jus' had a question," she said, "‘bout what I’m readin’, here. But looks like I’m interruptin’. I’ll just… ask another time.”

Sam started to get up from his chair, “No, no, you’re not interr—”

But she had already turned to leave.

His heart clenched as he watched her go.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

####  **(** **Counting Stars** **)**

Cas noticed a tension in the bunker these days. Sam and Bris were almost constantly upset, though over what Cas had no idea. Direl was still troubled since their trip to Sioux Falls and both he and Ketch were avoiding just about everyone. It seemed that only Eileen was feeling alright, though she did seem to be uncomfortable around Cas. He’d never been all that close to her in the first place, and he certainly didn’t want to make the situation worse, so he didn’t press the matter.

It all made Cas wish for the umpteenth time that someone had thought to include a manuscript on the behavior of humans, alongside the bunker’s other ample educational material. On would have thought that millennia watching Humanity would have given him  _some_ idea of the right procedures for these situations, and yet, even a decade on of regular contact still left Cas with more concerns than solutions for any human.

But of course, as he should really have come to expect by now, the human who concerned him most was Dean.

He wasn’t exactly sure when it started, but now that he was following Bris’s advice to watch Dean, Cas had noticed that his behavior had changed sharply. There were the things he’d already brought up with Sam a few weeks ago, but there were new things, too. Dean was tense more often than not, he tended to snap at questions asked of him, he seemed to have given up activities like cooking entirely, and most alarmingly, Cas hadn’t heard a single reference of popular media from him in weeks.

There were the more subtle things as well. Where conversation with Dean used to be easy and forthcoming, it was now jilted and riddled with landmines. Where Dean had previously sought out his company or welcomed his presence, he was now distant and only seemed to come to him after drinking. Well, drinking more than usual.

Because despite what Sam had said, Cas knew that Dean’s alcohol intake had increased. Beer runs were far more frequent lately, and the trips to the dumpster they snuck their garbage into were more voluminous and now featured heavily in glass.

The physical damage from this Cas could heal discreetly. But he could feel other wounds forming that were beyond his abilities.

So knowing that, it was with a heavy dose of guilt that Cas found himself looking forward to those times when Dean would get particularly drunk. There was still something between the two of them when he did, but at those times it was more of a garden fence than a fortress’s wall, and he was able to peek over the top and visit with him. Sometimes for a movie, sometimes just to sit and listen to songs together, and for that little while, Cas could pretend things were how they used to be, back before whatever this was happened, back when they were still truly best friends.

Tonight Dean's inebriated heart had led them outside, and Cas found himself lying in the frost-covered grass beside the bunker, Dean’s little speaker thrumming away between them as they looked up into the clear night sky. The sight was truly beautiful, enough to move even the most melancholy heart into appreciation of his Father’s Creation.

So perhaps it was just the setting that prompted Dean’s musing.

“What's a soul look like, Cas?”

Cas tipped his head to Dean, gauging his answer by 'how far gone' Dean was. He was still mostly present tonight, so Cas answered, “You've seen them before.”

“Yeah, with my lame-ass human eyes,” Dean scoffed. “What do they look like with super angel eyes?”

Cas thought on that, still watching Dean. “You know... I haven't actually seen all that many.”

Dean turned to Cas and raised a lazy eyebrow at him, “Isn't that kinda your whole deal? An angel guarding the poor saps stuck in Heaven?”

“I’ve never spent all that much time in Heaven.”

Dean frowned. “Oh.”

Cas turned back to the sky, “Someday you will dedicate to memory that I am not a guard of Heaven, but a warrior of God, a Seraph tasked with watching the Earth, warding it against threats. My time has always been spent around the Earth, watching from afar.”

Dean was silent for a while. Cas looked over to find him chewing his lower lip.

“Dean?”

Dean’s eyes fluttered shut. “I'm sorry, Cas.”

“For what?”

“For… not remembering.”

“I'm not upset.” Cas easily returned his gaze upward. “You have many things to worry about, Dean. A detail like that… It’s not important.”

Dean huffed. He mumbled what sounded like, _‘Course it is._

Cas judged from his volume that he hadn’t meant for Cas to hear that, and so didn’t respond.

Their silence stretched on. A small cloud passed over the twinkling points of light above.

“They look like stars,” said Cas.

“Huh?”

“Souls, they look like stars.”

“Oh.” Dean seemed to catch up to the conversation. He tilted toward Cas, “And what's that look like?”

“Like your eyes.”

Even in the dark, Cas saw a blush creep up Dean's neck.

“Like human eyes,” he amended, 'discomfort' having now been added to his list of known causes for reddening. “But multiplied on a scale your mind isn't designed to comprehend.”

Dean’s tongue darted out to lick his lips. “Can you try?" he said. "To help me comprehend?”

Cas ruminated on that. “It will be difficult, but yes, I’ll try.”

He lifted a hand from where it rested on his chest and gestured up into the night. “Imagine a bonfire.”

Dean closed his eyes, “Okay.”

“Imagine it as large as a city.”

“A big city?”

“As big as you can manage.”

Dean stuck his tongue out in thought. “Okay.”

“When new, the soul is like the prosperous sections of the city. Gleaming, fluid, and boisterous. It shines so brightly with possibility and hope, and is filled with a limitless Love that surely only my Father could truly comprehend.”

Dean nodded, intensely focused on the image.

Cas continued. “As it moves through life, though, things happen to the soul. Joys are built, and the city grows. Wounds are inflicted, and the buildings degrade.”

“And it's all on fire?”

“Figurative fire.”

“Right.”

Cas returned his hand to his chest, “By the time a life comes to an end, you can read the soul like a book. An amorphous, infinitely complex book. You told me once that you met the god Osiris?”

*Fuckin’ dick.*

“That's what he sees. That's what the Reapers, who direct souls to Heaven and Hell, see.”

“So my soul is my permanent record?”

“It's far more complicated than that, but I did warn you this would be difficult to explain.”

Dean sighed. “Right.”

“Now you should also remember that the soul is not the body. They're intrinsically linked but not the same. The body gives the soul consciousness. The soul gives the body life.”

Dean furrowed his brow, “But you can live without a soul.”

“Figurative life,” Cas answered. “Feeling. Purpose. Love.”

Dean grunted in understanding.

“Some philosophers discuss the difference as nature versus nurture, experience versus innate being, memories versus heart. They try to distinguish the two to decide what makes a person who they really are, and their efforts are admirable, but they are one in the same. They're both necessary to form the whole.”

Dean chuckled. “Somewhere in here you stopped telling me what it looks like.”

“Then I'll try again.” Cas pointed up at the dotted sky. ”They look like stars, but stars don't come in as many colors. Stars are white or red or yellow or sometimes blue, and some colors that you cannot see, but souls are any color they please, anything from within or without the spectrum visible to humans. Usually many all at once...”

Cas tipped his head to Dean, and Dean looked back.

“...They look like your eyes.”

Dean’s lips had slowly parted as he listened, but now he caught up with himself and shut them. He turned his face back to the sky, away from Cas and grunted, “Windows to the soul and all that crap?”

“Yes,” Cas answered, turning back as well. A smile pulled at his lips. “‘And all that crap’...”

The rest of the night passed easily enough. Their conversation from then on was thin, so scattered that it took Cas longer than he’d care to admit to realize that Dean had fallen asleep. But he didn’t mind it. As Dean gently snored, Cas stole this moment for himself.

Because though the times Dean would seek him out were what he looked forward to most, the times when Dean slept were a very close second. All his worries seemed to melt away, and he finally looked at peace. Even when the nightmares came, as they almost always did, Cas knew he could will them away with a touch and easily return him to that state. Recently that had been a far easier task, as Dean almost never woke during his four hours of sleep as of late. It allowed Cas more confidence when he watched over him in the night, assured he wouldn’t be kicked out for ‘creeping.’ Though Dean hadn’t done that in a while. Then again, Dean also hadn’t caught him doing it in a while. Dean appreciated when Cas would watch over him and Sam in their motel rooms, but Dean seemed to prefer to think of his room as a more exclusive space, and Cas allowed him to keep that illusion, always leaving in the minutes before Dean awoke.

Right now, though, Cas wasn’t thinking about all that. Right now he was thinking about the way the chill in the air brought a flush to Dean’s cheeks and to his nose. Cas found himself lost to another moment as the color brought out the constellations dusting his face, faint as the winter stars, and yet far superior to the sky above.

He only wished he could see how that flush would contrast with Dean’s eyes.

When Dean began to shiver Cas knew it was time to end the night. He could easily have carried Dean to his room, but that brought with it the risk of Dean waking up, and if Cas knew Dean at all, he knew that he would not appreciate finding himself in such a position. So he gently roused Dean, and encouraged him to sit up. Dean groped for and found his speaker though his grogginess, and together they managed to stand him up and return to the bunker.

Dean tipped into his bed with a low grunt and immediately latched onto his pillow, curling his whole body around it. Cas carefully took the little speaker from Dean’s hand and placed it on the bedside table, making sure to plug it in so it would be ready to continue doing its duty in the morning.

Cas went to take his seat by the wall, an unassuming wooden chair tucked into the corner. He’d already learned that it was a fruitless effort to try to help Dean undress in this state. It wasn’t worth the grumbling and the winces, and besides, Dean seemed to sleep just fine fully clothed.

Cas was relaxed into his chair, ready to begin his watch, when the speaker started a new song.

 _“Lately I been, I been losin’ sleep,  
_ _Dreamin’ about the things that we could be,  
_ _But, baby, I been, I been prayin' hard,  
_ _Said no more countin’ dollars,  
_ _We'll be countin’ stars, yeah, we'll be countin’ stars…”_

The song picked up and Cas frowned at it, quickly getting up to fish Dean’s phone from his pocket to turn the volume down.

He ignored the way his heart sped as his fingers brushed Dean’s hip, silently cursing that he was still too low on grace to simply do this from his chair. Though he did appreciate that this allowed him to see that Dean had “thumbs upped” this song previously.

He set Dean’s phone on the table next to the speaker, returning to his chair as the music continued to float around the room.

Dean had told him a few times now not to worry about the words to the songs that they would listen to together, and coupled with Bris’s advice to “just watch,” Cas had been doing his best to comply with that. So he tried to only take in the sound of this song— the snap of the snare, the urgency of the beat, the emotion in the singer’s voice— but he'd always found it hard not to listen to the message any given band was trying to deliver, and he ended up giving in for a bit.

 _“...I feel the love,  
_ _And I feel it burn,  
_ _Down this river, every turn,  
_ _Hope is a four letter word,  
_ _Make that money,  
_ _Watch it burn,_

 _Old, but I'm not that old,  
_ _Young, but I'm not that bold,  
_ _And I don't think the world is sold,  
_ _On just doin’ what we're told,_

 _I, feel somethin’ so wrong,  
_ _Doin’ the right thing,  
_ _I could lie, could lie, could lie,  
_ _Everything that drowns me makes me wanna fly…”_

Sure, not all of it made sense to Cas— why the number of letters in the word ‘hope’ was important was certainly beyond him— but just like every song he’d listen to, there were parts that stuck with him, parts that seemed to speak to what he was feeling himself, and lately, that meant the parts that made him want to just look at Dean all over again.

Dean’s back was to him now, but Cas was content to just watch the rise and fall of his slow, even breathing and enjoy the steady beat of his heart— a comforting sound he could hear even with the music playing.

That had been something he’d missed during his time without grace. All of his senses had been dulled but his hearing was what he treasured most. It gave him moments like this; quiet, reverent, and appreciative.

Though it also gave him moments of unintended pain. Like on the river in Sioux Falls.

Cas remembered the agony in Dean’s voice as he had confessed all number of things to Sam. He remembered the emptiness in his eyes when he had rejoined the group. He remembered the way Dean had tensed and drawn back from him.

But he also remembered how Dean stood just a fraction taller when Cas had stepped in to cut Jody’s scolding short.

Cas fought the urge to cross the room to him even now, to place a wing over him and soothe that pain away. After the time he had tried to calm Dean when he’d confronted Ketch, and of course his incident with Bris, Cas certainly wasn’t going to try something like that without Dean’s permission… if he ever got the nerve to try again at all. No, he was only here to keep watch tonight, to protect Dean from the nightmares, and besides, Dean was fine at the moment, sleeping soundly. He didn’t need that from Cas. He probably didn’t even want it.

But Cas found himself wishing Dean did. Bris’s instructions, however vague, had led Cas to see many things, but they all led to only one conclusion, and that was that something wasn’t right.

 _“...Take that money and watch it burn,  
_ _Sink in the river the lessons I learned,”_

Even at the worst Cas had seen Dean, he’d never been like this.

 _“Take that money and watch it burn,  
_ _Sink in the river the lessons I learned,”_

Close as he was to his brother, maybe Sam just wasn’t seeing it.

 _“Take that money and watch it burn,  
_ _Sink in the river the lessons I learned,”_

But then, maybe... maybe this had been what Bris had intended all along.

 _“Take that money and watch it burn,  
_ _Sink in the river the lessons I learned,”_

For Cas to look closer and see…

 

_“Everything that kills me makes me feel alive,”_

 

...and see his closest friend, mired in an unknown pain.

 

If that was it, he needed to speak to Bris again right away. He resolved to find her tomorrow, once she was awake. Perhaps after breakfast. She always seemed to feel best after she had her tea in the morning.

 _“Lately I been, I been losin’ sleep,  
_ _Dreamin’ about the things that we could be,  
_ _Baby, I been, I been prayin' hard,  
_ _Said no more countin’ dollars,  
_ _We'll be, we'll be countin’ stars...”_

Dean had one nightmare that night, and Cas was quick to banish it.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

The next morning Sam was slow to wake, if only because he dreaded leaving his room.

By the time he found the will to sit up, Bris was already up and dressed, about to head out for breakfast.

“Hey, ‘morning,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“‘Mornin’,” she answered shortly.

Sam sighed. All he wanted was to ask her if she was okay. But he already knew the answer, so he didn’t. Instead, he just stood from the bed, and slipped on yesterday's pants.

By the time he turned around, Bris had already left. He sighed again, and started searching his drawer for a shirt.

In a bunker with seven people currently living in it, Sam had never felt so alone.

Dean was like a ghost lately, but at least Sam knew how to deal with ghosts. He didn’t know how to deal with this. Didn’t even know where he would start—

_Fuck off, Sam, leave me the fuck alone._

—And he wasn’t about to ask.

Cas was completely wrapped up in something. Sam had no idea what, but as always with Cas, whatever it was had become his sole focus, and Sam didn’t want to interrupt.

He hadn’t seen Direl in days.

He wished he could say the same for Eileen.

Ketch was… there. Always there. Always hanging over his head. Just ready to—

Sam put Ketch out of his mind.

And his sole relief, his once warm source of comfort, wouldn’t even stay in the same room with him longer than to sleep.

Sam knew what was happening. He could see it in the way she acted, in the way her looks no longer lingered, in the way they didn’t make dinner together anymore, in the way she read her books alone in their room.

Sam tried. But nothing felt like enough.

She shied from his gentle touches. She slept on the far side of the bed. She gave half-hearted answers to his half-hearted abatement.

She was pulling away.

And he missed her.

He knew he could do more, knew there were other things he hadn't tried, things he hadn't said. But Sam wasn’t about to push for anything. Not ever, but especially not with all she had been through. So he gave her the distance she seemed to want.

But it hurt. 

It hurt a lot.

“Hey.”

Sam looked up from his drawer to find Eileen in the doorway.

“Oh— hey—” he said, suddenly uncomfortably aware of his bare chest. He tried to continue his search for a shirt, but it was difficult as he made sure to face her so she could read his lips.

Eileen fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. “I, um... I just wanted to say... I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I know you said… You just seem so upset that I’m here.”

Sam sighed. “No, Eileen, I’m not upset.”

“Then what would you call it? You just get so… flustered when I’m around, Sam.”

“I’m not—“

“And your girlfriend—”

“Bris.”

Eileen glanced away, “Right.” She took a step into the room. “You know, Sam, I couldn’t help but notice…”

He flinched. “It’s just a coincidence.”

The corner of her mouth ticked up. “You tried to replace me, Sam, I’m flattered.” She came further into the room.

“I didn’t—”

“The hair, the eyes, I mean, she’s taller than me and her nose is off, but, really, Sam, she’s even Irish. What, was my accent not thick enough for you?”

“You don’t have— I didn’t—”

“You know, you can admit it to me, Sam.” She was still coming closer. Sam stepped further back. “You can tell me you missed me.”

“I mean, o-of course I missed you. At first. But you— You were gone. You _died.”_

“Sam…”

His back hit the wall. She looked up at him with hooded eyes.

“...You can tell me it was always me.”

“That’s not true. Eileen—”

But she grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him down to her, taking him into a rough, messy kiss. His hands flew out to his sides and he tried to pull back, but her grip was too strong.

She pushed into him, trying to bring him even closer, but he finally managed to gather himself enough to shove her off.

Something shattered on the floor.

He snapped to the door, where the remains of a mug lay at Bris’s feet.

 

_No_

 

“Bris, wait—”

But she was gone, tearing off down the hallway.

“Bris!”

He shoved past Eileen but she caught him by the arm, “Let her go, Sa—”

“Don’t touch me!” He tore himself from her grasp and ran after Bris, down the hall and out to the map room.

She was already halfway up the stairs.

“Bris, wait, I didn’t—!”

But she didn’t turn around, she was out the door before he even reached the bottom of the stairs.

Sam took them three at a time and burst out of the bunker, the chill of the morning slamming into his skin, but she was already out of sight.

“Bris!” he shouted, _“Bris!”_

Where did she go? Where would she—?

“The canal.”

He sprinted down the road. She _had_ to be heading for the canal. He’d pointed it out to her on one of their jogs, something he absolutely regretted now.

Lungs burning and legs screaming, he rounded the corner of an industrial building—

 _Thank God!_ There she was, running right for the water.

 _“Bris!”_ he bellowed, _“Bris, please, wait!”_

If anything she ran faster.

Sam sprinted as fast as he could. He reached out to her, still too far away.

_“Please!”_

But she was already at the concrete bank, and without a single backward glance she leapt, flipped on her coat, and dove into the canal.


	11. Chapter 11

 

_He can fix this. This had been a mistake, but it’s a mistake he can fix. He looks to the light above, he hears the voice cutting through him, and he realizes then that maybe… maybe this was it._

_Maybe this was why._

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

So. That just happened.

Dean returned his gaze to his laptop as the bunker door slammed behind Sam and Bris.

He shrugged to himself as he leaned back in his chair at the library table, adjusting his headphones to continue to watch _La-La Land_ for the umpteenth time this week. He didn’t pay attention to how long it was until the door opened, and Sam came back down the stairs.

Alone. _Oof._

Without a word, Sam strode across the room, straight to the shelves. He frantically yanked books out, throwing them on— or at least near— the table, and when he turned to his pile he wasn’t much better, opening one to scan it for a second only to slam it shut, throw it aside, and snatch up another. Dean kept his eyes on his movie, able to ignore him, until Cas entered.

For a moment it seemed like Cas was going to ask them something, but then he caught sight of Sam: very shirtless, still red from the cold, and obviously upset.

“Sam—?”

“I need a tracking spell.”

Dean snorted.

Sam spun at him. “What?” he barked.

Dean just shook his head. “Dude... Sam.”

“What?”

“Sam.”

 _“What,_ Dean!?”

“She’s warded, dude.”

The page in Sam’s fingers slipped back down to the book.

He dropped it and snatched Dean’s laptop, roughly yanking the headphone cord and almost spilling his drink.

“Hey!”

Sam didn’t respond, fingers already flying and trackpad clicking away.

Dean begrudgingly pulled off his headphones and turned to finally take a good look at Sam.

As if feeling his gaze, Sam’s eyes skipped to him. “What?” he demanded again.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “She caught you with Eileen, didn’t she.”

Sam flinched. “I wasn’t—!”

Dean shot him a Look.

Sam sighed, fists clenching against the table. _"S_ _he_ kissed _me.”_

 _“Tch,_  right."He leaned back in his chair, absently swirling his amber glass. “Saw that comin’ from a mile away.”

Sam furrowed his brow, “You noticed—?”

“Yeah. Think we all noticed,” Dean huffed into his whiskey.

Cas raised his hand, “I didn’t notice.”

“You get a pass.”

Cas nodded and lowered his hand.

Sam moved quickly from incredulous to furious. “Well— why didn’t you say something!?”

“Um, because you should be able to handle your own shit, like a grown up?”

“Oh that’s rich.”

Dean sat up in his chair, “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Sam didn’t answer him, he just rolled his eyes and returned to the computer. Dean glanced at the screen.

He sighed at the programs he saw. “Her GPS, dude? You know how creepy that is, right?”

“Not creepy. Setting things right. She doesn’t know what she saw.”

“She saw you with Eileen, dude.”

“She kissed me!”

“Dude.”

“No! Shut up, Dean, I have to find her!” he shouted. “I have to explain— I followed her as far as I could, but that canal runs underground and— and I couldn’t—” His fingers froze over the keyboard. “Oh my god, what if she gets stuck? Oh god, what if— what if the pipes narrow and she— and she can’t—”

Dean paused and looked over his little brother again. His hands were actually trembling over the keyboard.

Dean set his glass down and leaned forward in his seat. “Sam.”

Sam snapped to him, fear painted clearly across his face.

Dean met his gaze straight on. “You kiss her back?” he asked.

Venom reached Sam’s eyes, “No!”

“Did you want to?”

_“No!”_

Dean nodded slowly and stood from his chair. “Alright, scoot over, you’re just gonna mess it up with your freak-out fingers.”

“But—”

Dean edged him out, taking over the laptop to run the GPS search. “Go get a drink,” he said, waving a hand at Sam, “can’t have you crying like a bitch when you go get her back.”

He saw Sam just blinking at him from the corner of his eye. Then a smile tugged at his mouth. “Jerk,” he chuffed, and clapped Dean on the shoulder as he went to leave.

Cas spoke up before Sam passed through the doorway to the kitchen, “I could search the town, if you like.”

Dean popped up from the laptop, “What’re you gonna do? Walk around?”

Cas tipped his head with a furrowed brow. “I planned on driving.”

Sam gave him a warm smile, “That would be great, Cas. I really appreciate it.”

Cas smiled in return, and left down the hallway for the garage.

When he was gone, Dean said to Sam, “You know he’s not gonna find her, right?”

Sam scowled at him. “That’s so not the point.”

“Whatever,” he huffed, slouching over the keyboard. “Go get your stupid drink.”

Sam just rolled his eyes and left for the kitchen.

As he went, Dean leaned back from the computer to bark at his retreating back, “And put a damn shirt on!”

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Crowley was in a bar.

That was about all he knew.

Sure, he could infer that he was in a bar _on Earth,_ but, again, that was about it.

The music currently playing switched over, the change making itself known to his strained consciousness:

_“There’s a fi-i-ire, burnin’ in my heart—”_

Amendment: He also knew that he wasn’t _nearly_ drunk enough for this.

 _“—Reachin’ a fever pitch that’s bringin’ me out the dark,_ _  
_ _Finally-y-y I can see you crystal clear,_  
_Go ahead and sell me out, and I’ll lay your ship to bare,”_

Huh. Wait a tick.

Crowley tipped his head at the ceiling.

That was decidedly Not Adele. But who was it?

He became aware of a presence next to him. Turning to it, he found a woman now sitting on the stool beside him.

 _“See me leavin’ with every piece of you,_ _  
_ _Don’t underestimate the things that I will do,_ _  
_ _There’s a fire, burnin’ in my heart,_  
_Reachin' a fever pitch that’s bringin’ me out the dark…”_

He turned the other way, and saw that, ah yes, the bar was indeed fairly crowded and that had been the only available seat. He turned back to look at her again as a glass of… something was placed in front of her.

She turned to him, a scowl lining a lovely face. “What’re you lookin’ at?”

That was an excellent question. He had no idea.

Though he could _feel…_ something from her. Something promising. But it was vague, and he was far too hammered to actually care, so he guessed.

“Trouble in paradise, I think.”

Her scowl only deepened. “Piss off, ye limey bastard.”

“Actually, I’m Scottish.”

She turned back to him, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s a terribly long, complicated story that ends in...” he shrugged, _“eahh.”_

He took a sip off his own glass of… something. Whatever it was, it was awful. “Suffice it to say the English can choke on a banger,” he held his drink out to her.

The woman eyed him carefully. “Aye, alright, I’ll drink to that,” and she knocked their glasses together. She downed hers in one go and ordered another.

 _“...The scars of your love, remind me of us,_ _  
_ _They keep me thinkin’ that we almost had it all…”_

“So was I right?” Crowley asked as he dropped his glass back to the bartop.

The woman sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, you were.” She looked over to him, “You too?”

Crowley laughed, harsh and short. “That would imply there was a Paradise in the first place.”

 _“Mm,”_ she grunted, and leaned forward in her seat, her ludicrously long, wavy hair falling forward as she looked down, perhaps to admire his coat. Her eyes widened and she sat back again. “Sounds like it were pretty fuckin’ bad.”

“Understatement of the year, darling.” He downed his own drink and waved over another.

 _“...We could have had it aaall,_ _  
_ _Rollin’ in the deeeep,_ _  
_ _You had my heart insiiiide of your hand,_  
_But you played it, to the bea-ea-ea-ea-eat,”_

“Damn it all, I know who this is…!” Crowley moaned as the song wound down.

The woman tipped her ear to the ceiling. “Sorry, mate, I’m no good with this new stuff.”

_“Yeah… Yeah…  Yeeaahh…!”_

Something slipped into place and he nearly leapt from his barstool, “Ha! Yes! Those little twinks from Michigan! _Ha!”_ He took a celebratory swig off his glass. “God, when is their contract up? Was that ‘12 or ’15 I signed them…?”

The woman just shrugged.

“No matter! Ha!” He’d known it, that was the important thing.

The bar’s next song began as Crowley’s laughter died down.

 _“Feelin’ used,  
_ _But I'm,  
_ _Still missin’ you,  
_ _And I can't,  
_ _See the end of this,  
_ _Just wanna feel your kiss,_  
_Against my lips…”_

 _“Ach,_ fuck _this…”_ the woman grumbled into her drink.

Crowley listened as the next verse passed them by, and hummed knowingly. “Just give it a minute...”

 _“...I hate you, I love you,  
_ _I hate that I love you,  
_ _Don't want to, but I can't put,  
_ _Nobody else above you,  
_ _I hate you, I love you,  
_ _I hate that I want you,  
_ _You want her, you need her,_  
_And I'll never be her...”_

The woman groaned over the countertop as Crowley smirked. “There it is.”

“Damn it _all…”_ the woman groaned into her hands.

“Ah, yes. Nothing like a good diddy to work up the pain.”

She didn’t respond to that. “How could I not see this comin’?” she said instead, “I mean, I thought somethin’ was up but… _Damn_ it, I shoulda _seen_ it in him. I shoulda _known…”_

“Oh, knowing doesn’t help one bit,” Crowley said. “I saw it from a mile away but did I do anything? No. Just let myself be blindsided.”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. “She were supposed to be… But she were always… It were always her. It were always gonna be her, no matter how good we had it.”

Crowley tipped his head as he brought his glass to his lips. “No matter what we did, it was bound to fail.”

“The moment she walked in, it was over.”

“We never stood a chance.”

“Why’d I even try? I gave him all I had to give an’ he still...”

“He still walked away.”

“Why? Why would he do this?" the woman strained, fisting her hands in her hair. "He coulda jus’... _told_ me! Anywhere in theres he coulda just _said_ somethin’! Why’d he have to... Why'd he have to...?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. There was a plan, but he just wouldn’t stick to it.”

 _“...All alone I watch you watch her,_ _  
_ _Like she's the only girl you've ever seen,_ _  
_ _You don't care you never did,_ _  
_ _You don't give a damn about me,_ _  
_ _Yeah, all alone I watch you watch her,_ _  
_ _She is the only thing you ever see,_ _  
_ _How is it you never notice,_  
_That you are slowly killing me?...”_

Crowley sighed into his glass, “What she said.”

The woman frowned. “Nah, she lost me there.”

“Lucky you.”

She huffed at that. “No... Jus’ makes it that much worse. I knows he _do_ give a damn an’ he still...” She grimaced and threw back this drink as well. “He cares. He jus’ cares about her more.”

As the bartender returned, the woman pulled a credit card from her pocket and handed it over. “Jus’ keep ‘em comin, joe,” she told him, and the bartender silently exchanged her card for another glass. *Not like I’m gonna need that anymore anyways.*

And together, with a bond forged of righteous pain and fresh drinks in hand, the two of them settled in for what would turn out to be a very long day.

 

———

 

This was going to be a stupidly long day.

Dean put down his copy of _Mother Night_ he was reading for the billionth time to groan and drape himself over the back of his chair, pressing his palms to his face as the tracking programs just ran and ran and _ran…_

He glanced to the side, checking in on Sam. He was in the map room now, surrounded by books again, despite Dean’s chiding that nothing he could find would work.

As Dean finished his stretch, his attention was drawn to the the hallway as Cas returned.

Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Cas frowned at him.

Dean rolled his eyes. *Did you find her?* he asked, low enough that Sam couldn’t hear and get his hopes up.

“Oh!” Cas nodded in understanding. “No,” he said, taking the seat to Dean’s right.

They sat in heavy silence for a moment.

“You weren’t gone all that long,” Dean said, more from a need to fill the awkward wait than out of actual concern.

“I took the most efficient route.”

Dean rolled his eyes again, “‘Course you did.”

The conversation died out. Well, so much for that.

After another minute Cas said, “We keep losing people.”

Dean shut his eyes and reached for his drink. Like he didn’t already know that.

“Bris. Gabriel…” Cas continued.

“Mom and Jack.”

Cas nodded. “Yeah. The others can take care of themselves but…” Cas put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, “I’m worried about Gabriel.”

Dean frowned at the hand. “Why?”

“He’s— He must be low on grace. Must have been for years now.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a big boy, I’m sure he can take care of himself wherever he is.”

Cas snapped to Dean, looking almost angry—

A new window popped up on the laptop screen.

Dean quickly read what it said. “Hey, Sam!” he shouted, glad to end that strange, uncomfortable conversation, “I think we found her!”

He chuckled as Sam ran into the room, “You’re gonna love this.”

 

———

 

Crowley’s mystery bar woman, who had given her name by now but he’d already forgotten it, seemed to be doing her damndest to keep up with his pace. She couldn’t, obviously, but Crowley was nothing if not an enabler of vices, so even after her card got cut off, he covered round after round for the both of them. Pretty soon they were swaying on their stools together, arms around each others shoulders, ignoring the looks of mild impatience from the other bar patrons as their laments competed with _["Written in the Water"](https://www.pandora.com/artist/gin-wigmore/blood-to-bone/written-in-the-water/TRXVP4c76m3ZZZP?corr=17174415&part=ug) _ to be heard over the bar.

“An’ ‘e _kissed_ ‘er! In _our room!”_ the woman told him for maybe the twentieth time.

“My _god,_ that’s awful,” Crowley agreed yet again. “Mine at least had the decency to tell me! Eventually.”

She leaned heavily against him, her voice dropping low, “Can’t get the sight outta me eyes, neither. Every times I shuts ‘em I gots ‘em there, mackin’ agains’ the wall like a couple’a bowsies behind the church after services, what.” A tear slipped down her face, unnoticed or unimportant. “Shoulda known this were comin’. Shoulda... Fuck... S'pose Mother were right all along.”

 _“Oh boy,” _Crowley leaned into her, “you want to get into Mommy Issues I’ll talk your ear _right_ off! You first, though,” he said with a smile, taking another drag off his new drink, whatever it was. This one was adorned with a lovely little umbrella.

“She jus’ told me... jus’ tried to warn me. Love for love’s sake never works out. It jus’ hurts. It don’ work. It jus’ hurts.”

Crowley nodded. “Sounds like a wise woman.”

“Nah,” she puffed. “She’s the wors' wagon of ‘em all. But even a broke watch can be right twice, yeah?”

Crowley nodded in sympathy. At least _his_ mother wasn’t a wagon. Evil conniving skank, yes, but thank goodness not a _wagon._

“I means, I gets it. I gets why he’d go back to her,” the woman fell back into her previous track. “I jus’ wish… _Fuck,_ I’d do anythin’, jus’ about anythin’... jus' to make it good again…”

Something familiar clicked in Crowley’s mind, and he found himself saying, “You know, I could do something about that for you.”

She turned to him, “Do wha’?”

“Take care of your problem,” he said with a practiced cool. “Perhaps... we could make a deal.”

She sat up on her stool, now eyeing him suspiciously. “Like what?” she huffed, “You gonna take out this slag fer me?”

“Her. Or him. Or both of them.”

She was taken aback by his blatancy, but soon seemed to realize he wasn’t kidding. She pulled her arm back from around his shoulders to handle her glass on the bartop, slowly swirling its contents.

“I… I can’t tell you how temptin’ that is.”

“Oh, trust me, darling, I know.”

“But...” She trailed off, shaking her head as she looked into her glass.

Crowley frowned at her. “You’ve been telling me all this time how you can’t _stand_ the thought that he doesn’t want you, how the very _idea_ of being without him makes you physically _sick._ Well I can fix that, I can take all that pain away, and all you have to do,” he whipped out a pen from his pocket, “is say yes.”

She pulled her eyes from her drink, her gaze shifting carefully between him and the pen...

“...No.”

Crowley’s frown returned. “‘No’?”

“No. Tha’ would jus’... give him more space in my head... An’ I jus’ wanna be done wit’ it.”

Crowley looked at her carefully. “You want to… just be done with it?”

 _“Och,_ don’t get me wrong, mate, I’m right livid over all this but… It jus’ ain’t good to hang on like that. Jus’ gonna make it hurt all the worse. So I'm thinin' I’ll jus’... think I’ll jus’ go knick a pint a' ice cream. Maybe call Inas ‘r somethin’... They’ll know whats to do.”

She looked out at the crowd of empty glasses gathered before her. “Should prob’ly call it here anyways. I still gotta find myself a place to stays fer the night.”

Crowley raised his nose in the air, then shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, and exchanged his pen for one of his cards in his coat. “You can always call if you change your mind.”

She pocketed it and flashed him a smile. “Thanks, mate. Really, it’s been a gas talkin’ wit’cha, here. Y’know… ‘sides from all the wallowin’.”

Just as she was going to get off her stool, the music in the bar changed over once more, and a new song caught their ears.

 _“I’m only human...  
_ _I’m only— I’m only—_  
_I’m only human, human…”_

They both snorted.

They snapped to each other, wide-eyed with shock: “It’s jus’ funny ‘cause—” “Well, now, I mean—”

They caught the looks on each other’s faces, and broke out laughing.

As they caught their breath, the woman placed a hand on his arm, _“Ohh,_ thanks, boyo. Oh, fuck, I needed that.”

Crowley somehow pulled himself together, but before he could squeak out his agreement he was cut off by a… something.

 _Something_ was coming at them, something _familiar…_

Wait...

Holy bollocks, was that…?

Was that _Moose?_

“Where are we?” Crowley blurted.

The woman’s hand tightened on his arm. “Ye mean in this _pub,_ or—?”

“City, state, province, country— where am I?” he clipped at her.

“Kansas, lad, in the U.S.,” she answered with trepidation. “Think this place is called Lenon ‘r Lean-Along ‘r somethin’.”

Crowley groaned. It _was_ Moose.

Huh. If this _was_ Lebanon, that would also explain the vague _angel-y_ feeling he’d had in the back of his mind all day. Feathers must be out and about.

But right now Moose was getting closer, and damn, by the feeling of him, he’d been working out since their last little excursion to Hell. All the more reason not to run into him right now.

The woman was eyeing him with equal parts amusement and concern. “Lord above, ye mus’ be in the middle of a real holy show to not even know what country yer in. I swear now, I’d stay fer another round jus' to hear the backstory to this!”

In his current state, Crowley actually considered that. It might be nice to tell somebody, really tell somebody everything. But…

“It would be… _far_ more than another round to explain this,” he said.

She tipped her head at him. “You know I don’t _actually_ gots anywheres to be, right? Pro’ly jus’ gonna end up sleepin’ under a damned tree ‘r some shite anyhow.”

Tempting as it was…

“No,” Crowley sighed. It was all simply too close to the heart. Or, whatever passed for Crowley's heart, anyway.

 _“...I’m only human, after all,_ _  
_ _I’m only human, after all…”_

He pointed to the ceiling, “Now speaking of that, I better be going as well.”

“What? Speakin’ a’ what?”

 _“...I’m only human,_ _  
_ _I make mistakes,_ _  
_ _I’m only human,_ _  
_ _That’s all it takes,_  
_To put the blame on me...”_

Crowley pointed at the door. “Bet you'll see in a minute. You never saw me, alright?”

The woman swiveled on her stool to follow his gesture, “What’re you—?”

But when she turned back, he was gone.

She flipped around to the door again, just as a giant of a man burst through it.

———

“Bris!” Sam shouted and rushed toward her, practically climbing over the annoyed patrons who found themselves in his way.

Her heart dropped and she leapt off her stool, backing away from his rapid approach but seeing no clear path of escape. A hand went to her chest, pressing against her ribs. He shouldn't be here. She’d lost him at the canal—

He visibly forced himself to stop a short distance from her, even as his hands twitched to reach out. “Bri—”

“How’d’you find me?” she demanded.

Sam winced. “Well, I wish I could say I know you well enough to just head for the nearest bar…” he glanced away from her, “and the tracking spell didn’t pan out—”

“You used _magic_ to find me?” She recoiled further from him. “No— No, Cas said no one but _God_ could—!”

“No, no, that’s true!” Sam reached a hand forward, but pulled it back. “That’s true. I didn’t— I couldn’t—” He paused, his fist clenching. “We used your phone.”

Her hand slapped against her pocket— against the phone _he_ had given her— and she considered throwing it across the room.

Sam shrank at her reaction, “I’m sorry, but—”

“You knows how _fuckin’_ creepy that is, right?"

He winced again. “Bris, I’m sorry, I had to find you—”

“Why? So’s you can finish it proper this time?” she spat. “I ain’t in’erested in hearin’ exactly how through this is—”

“What? Shit, Bris, no!” he gaped at her. “God— No— Bris—”

“Oh, so yer here to beg fer me back, then.” She nodded disingenuously through a snarl. “Well I ain’t much in’erested in that neither.”

She took off, making her own escape route by pushing roughly through the crowd, effectively putting a table between herself and Sam as she rushed for the door.

She burst out into the evening and the cold slammed into her, snapping her back a good few notches from right plastered. Fat lot of good it did her though— she stopped at the sidewalk outside the bar, head swimming with drink, flipping back and forth at the road, not knowing where the fuck she was gonna go. She had to decide quick, but just— but— _damn_ it! If only his heart would stop _screamin’_ like a fuckin' _bhean-sidhe_  so she could fuckin’ _think—_

“Bris!”

She spun, stepping back before he could try to grab her. “No! I don’ wanna hear it, Sam! Go back to yer new floozie an’ leave me in peace, damn it!”

She took off down an alley, still not knowing where she was headed and ignoring whatever Sam was saying behind her, but she only got so far as rounding the back of the bar when—

There was a frustrated shout behind her, and next thing she knew her boots were stuck to the ground, stopping her short and nearly toppling her forward.

With a cry of rage she whirled back, eyes jumping between her feet and him as he came around to face her.

“Bris, I—”

 

She struck him, sharp across the face.

 

Her eyes burned and her upper lip curled.

“You take yer damned magic off a’ me this instant.”

His lips parted as a hand went to his quickly reddening cheek, “Bris...”

_“Now.”_

“You have to let me explain—”

“I don't have to do _anythin’,_ you _bastard! Get it off!”_

His glowing eyes searched hers for a long moment before he squeezed them shut and dropped his head.

He released the fist he was holding, and she felt his power fade.

Without a word she pushed around him, heading further down the alley.

“I didn't kiss her.”

She stopped. Her shoulders heaved.

“Don’t play me fer a damned fool, Sam.”

“She kissed me,” he said, uncaring or unable to hide the desperation in his voice. “She came at me, and she kissed me, and I didn’t want it. She's nothing, Bris.”

Bris turned back slightly, keeping her eyes on the ground. “She were never nothin’.”

“Bris, I told you months ago, we didn't have anything. She died— I thought she died— before anything could really—”

“I said don’t play me fer a damned fool!” she shouted, facing him again. “I _seen_ the wound on yer heart! She were special, Sam, why the fuck else would you a’ gone an’ found yerself a fuckin’ carbon-copy replacement of her!”

“You’re not _anything_ like her—”

“Oh I know. I can tell that fer sure,” she snapped. And she tried to stop there but, “...So how the fuck am I s'posed to compete with her?”

Sam gaped at her. “What?”

She gritted her teeth and cursed the drink in her system.

Damage done, she pushed on. “Sam... I fuckin’ understand what the fuck’s goin’ on here.”

“No, you don—”

“A’ _course_ I do, Sam,” she said with exasperation, “or didja forget which one a’ us has been married more’n a few times over?”

He flinched at that.

“Ah. Ye did. Wonderful.” She pressed her lips together and glared at the wall beside her. “Well I can tell ye that I _understand_ what ye mus’ be feelin’ here. An’ I _understand_ that I don’ have a chance in hell against it. I don’t know what the fuck I’d do if any one a’ my spouses came waltzin’ back into my life, or even Braden. But you’ve got that shot here. You've got this second shot with her. An’ in the face a’ that, well… Well I might as well jus’... jus’... give up.”

Sam stepped forward, “No, Bris, please—”

“Sam, I tried to tell you months ago… I can’t be what she was fer you. I tried to tell you, an’ _you_ didn’t listen to me, an’ _I_ didn’t listen to me…”

“That’s not—”

“Sam,” she cut him off, “it’s best for everyone if I jus’ go.”

She turned and headed down the alley again. Maybe there was a nice park nearby, one with some nice big trees and—

 _“Damn it, Bris!”_ Sam burst from behind her. “Would you _listen_ to me for one _fucking_ second?”

She froze.

Inas’s words echoed in her ears.

Sam didn’t wait for her to respond. “Not a single thing you just said was true.”

She spun back to him, that sharp rage overrunning her judgement, “Think I damn well—”

“There’s _nothing_ between me and her! There never was!”

“That don’t mean the want weren't there!”

“But it isn't!” he shouted back.

Her fists unclenched.

“I. don’t. love. her. I don’t _want_ her,” his voice shook with frustration and unspent tears. “Bris, I can’t— I mean— Just look! Look at me, Bris!” He pulled his overshirt open. “You can see it! Fucking _look at me_ and _see it!_ There’s _nothing_ in here for her! This is… Bris, this is all for you.”

Oh Lord she wanted to look. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t look down and possibly see something other than what he was saying.

“Do you know how many times I've thought about her since I met you?” he asked her, allowing his shirt to fall back. He burned brightly right through it.

“Sam—”

“Once. Once, when I fucked up in that motel.”

She held back a scoff, “Sam, you didn't—”

“No, don’t say that, I fucked that up, alright? I ruined that for us. I ruined that for us, and now because of that you think— You actually think that—” He swallowed thickly and dropped his eyes to the ground. “Fuck, Bris, that night was _perfect_ until I fucked it up...”

Bris tried to keep it up, to hold onto the hurt and the outrage that had fueled her this far, but it was really no use. Just the sight of him, of such a tall, boisterous man shrunk into something so small and hopeless, it finally quelled that flame.

Her shoulders dropped, and she couldn’t help but give him the truth: “T’aint nothin’ in this world what's truly perfect, Sam. But that were about as close as it gets.”

Sam raised his eyes to hers. His lips parted with the slightest shake of his head.

 _“Every day_ with you is perfect.”

Oh… Oh, damn it all...

Oh, this boy never had played fair.

“Sam…”

“I mean it, Bris, I love you. I love _you_ and she means nothing compared to that. She kissed me, and I didn’t want it, and if you’d have waited one more second you’d have seen me push her off.”

Her memory snapped back into place, no longer clouded with the red haze of fury.

“No, I… I seen that.”

“Then please,” Sam took a step toward her, “please believe me. I would never do that to you. I couldn't. I'd never want to.”

Her heart broke open further, its warm pain overflowing her and running down her cheeks. “Those’re some mighty big promises, Sam.”

“I mean it, though, I mean it all.” His hand absently grabbed at his sternum. He looked down at it. “Never thought I'd say this, but I really wish I had that damned necklace right now.”

She couldn’t help it, a huff of a laugh escaped her and she shook her head. “Nah, now… Ye don't need that, Sam.”

“But then you'd know I—”

 _“Sam,”_ a smile found its way to her lips, “I only need what to look at yer face to know you're not lyin’ to me.”

And knowing that, she did finally look down into his chest, and she saw. She saw that without a doubt, his heart belonged to another, and only one other, and she saw that it ached, that it roiled with the overwhelming pain of losing that someone.

That alone would have been enough to make her own heart soar, but then... something new happened.

His heart reached out to her. Not far, and not visibly, but she felt it—

And it _pulled._

It pulled at her in a way that Sam never had before.

He pulled like Aoife.

He pulled like her husbands.

He pulled... like he needed her. But not in the way hearts do at first. Feeling it now, she recognized it as the way hearts tug at the end, the way she always missed when a spouse passed away.

He didn’t pull like he needed her help, he just…undoubtedly... needed her.

Her shock must have shown because Sam looked down as well, “What? Is it… is it bad?”

“No…” she put a hand to her mouth, “No, it’s...” She looked up at him as the tears continued down her face, but her voice was unwavering with conviction. “I believe you, Sam.”

He cautiously took another step toward her, and held out a hand, “Does that mean that you'll come back?”

She looked from his hand up into his eyes— just as colorful as his heart and filled with nothing but the same earnest, desperate pleading— and she sighed through a smile.

*Damn those gorgeous things.*  

She stepped forward and took his hand, “I gots a feelin’ I'll always come back to you, ye lousy flah.”

His relief burst from him in a rush of air and a squeeze of his hand. “I'm honestly not sure if I should be insulted or…”

She rolled her eyes though her smile. “Means you're a looker, ye eejit.”

He snorted and stepped close, “Alright, _that_ one I know.”

His free hand went to the back of her neck, threading through her hair to pull her to him, and she fisted her fingers in his shirt, grasping him strong and tight and pulling him back just as hard. He slid his other arm around her waist, bringing her flush to him, and she melted into it, the warmth of his lips on hers heating her from the core.

When they finally parted, they stayed there still, holding each other close against the cold of the coming night. Sam pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and sighed into her hair.

 _“Tá mo chroí istigh ionat,” (My heart is within you,)_ he said perfectly.

An honest chill ran down her spine, settling low behind her navel. She closed her eyes, and pushed a shaking breath into his shirt.

“I am _absolutely_ teachin’ you how to talk dirty.”

His laughter shook them both, his arms holding her there so tight, and Bris thanked everything she could name that she hadn’t really lost this. Never in her life was she so glad to be so wrong.

“Alright, alright, come on, ye langer.” She took his hand and beamed. “You an’ I are havin’ the make-up sex of a lifetime, ye hear?” She gave his ass a quick swat and went to head back to the road.

Sam stopped her though, gripping her hand tight. “Hey, um—”

She faced him again. “What?”

“Um. A-as long as we’re… saying things... um…” He shut his eyes and he reddened further than the chill could claim on its own. “Could you... not... do that?”

“Not do what, love?”

“The—” his face scrunched tighter, “The slapping my ass and— a-and the pinching— I just…” He tried to meet her eyes and failed. “I _really_ don’t like it.”

“Wha— Well, a’ course, Sam!” She stepped up close to him and took his other hand as well. “A’course I’ll stop! I’m so sorry—! Have I been doin’ that all this time an’—?”

“No! No— I mean, i-it’s fine. If you could just… not…”

“Yes, a’ course, darlin’! Done and done.” She placed a hand on his jaw to kiss his cheek, and pulled him into another hug, mentally adding this to her list of things she was going to make up for when they got back.

Sam shivered against her, and this time it was definitely the cold.

“Hey... let’s get back home, yeah?” She took his hand once more and led them back toward the road. “Come on now, where’d you park?”

Sam ducked his head a bit. “I… might have kinda run here when Dean told me where you were.”

She looked him up and down, realizing now he was dressed in only jeans and a flannel, and kicked herself for ever doubting this man’s devotion.

“Then let’s hurry ‘fore you catch cold,” she said with a smile, and squeezed his hand as they fell into step together.

She reached into her pocket for that man's card, crumpled it without so much as a glance, and tossed it in the nearest trash bin.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

Hell was awful to rule.

Or, more accurately, Hell was awful _not_ to rule.

Sure, Rowena was doing all the heavy lifting, but was she getting any credit for it? Was she getting any of the benefits? No. Not at all.

At least the subjects knew and appreciated her efforts. By now they were well aware of who was doing the actual labor of running this grand machine, and had started coming straight to her with their issues. And that meant that _she_ was a busy woman, barely able to eke out enough time for her own personal projects, like training up Samuel. Hopefully _that_ would prove worth her continued efforts in the end, what with the way he was pussyfootin’ about it. Men. Honestly.

Although you know… there _was_ that little bird of his, too…

She set that aside for now. Right now, between those plans and the meetings and the paperwork and the skirting of the rules to do what needed to be done around here— well, she was starting to run herself downright ragged.

And yet, she reveled in it. This was absolutely her element. There were plans to fulfil, decisions to be made, usurpers to quell, all the while surrounded by demons, witches, and other fiendish entities that grew more loyal to her by the day.

So perhaps she could be forgiven if she was starting to feel a bit… salty. Here she was, practically runnin’ the place by herself, and who got to sit on that damned throne? Her son. Her listless, wonderful, awful, beautiful, lackadaisical son.

And, yes, as she’d let slip to Sam earlier, she was starting to worry.

Absolutely nothing had improved with Fergus since the back half of their little plan had fallen through. There’d been an honest effort at first, an attempt to step back into that role he’d held for years, but now he wandered the halls aimlessly, avoiding contact with anyone, and when he could be found it was most often in the damned kennels, or even up on Earth in the bars. He seemed to be perfectly content with letting the whole place fall apart without their King to lead them. It was sad, really. Frankly, it was a little pathetic.

And it was all over one fool bastard with pretty eyes.

She’d already done all she could to try to cheer him up. There was no shortage of handsome men with a nice smile and a strong jaw on Earth, but he was having none of it. So she’d given up on that and stuck to what she _could_ do, keeping the place rollin’ on without him.

It was just after one of her faux-courts— as _technically_ court could not proceed without _the King—_ that she finally decided she’d had enough, and inquired as to how things might be… further improved in this realm.

“Oh wait, there,” she crooned to one of her son’s top advisers as the rest filed out the door. “Yes, you, darlin’. I have a question for you.”

The demon stopped and returned to her, “Of course, my Lady, what knowledge do you require?”

“Oh, nothin’ special now, just a quick inquiry.” She raised a hand of caution, “A _purely_ hypothetical inquiry, of course.”

“Of course,” they echoed.

Rowena folded her hands before her. “I’m simply curious: What _is_ the typical procedure for passin’ on the throne?”

Either this demon wasn’t surprised in the slightest by this question, or they were a fabulous actor. “Well, my Lady, the throne of Hell has changed through many hands recently. It is _meant_ to be passed to whomever should be next in line, but things have been… tumultuous lately.”

“But there is an identified line of succession?”

“There was. With the Princes gone and the Knights destroyed, however, I suppose a handpicked successor would be called for. Or perhaps…” the demon raised their brows, “a next of kin might be acceptable to the subjects of Hell.”

Rowena smirked, deciding then that this demon was worth keeping an eye on. “Fabulous! Yes, that’s _wonderful_ to know. Now, just one more question for you.”

“Yes, my Lady?”

“Has a King ever… retired?”

“Retired, no,” they answered. “Kings have been killed, or in our Lord Lucifer’s case simply abandoned the throne, but no King has ever peacefully retired once in office.”

“But could they?”

“I see no reason why not,” they said with a sparkle in their eye.

“Thank you, dearie,” she said, dismissing the adviser. With a polite bow, the demon left her.

She turned back to look at that chair, and smiled to herself. So there was hope after all.

Now all she had to do was convince the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know there was already SO much music in this chapter, but there’s one more song that I just couldn’t fit in: [“The Meaning of it All” by Delta Rae](https://open.spotify.com/track/1AyCfUGlno58hOCOymJTiV?si=K-615JWdR86i9LA_lknlEw). Definitely worth a listen, for its own sake and for [Sam](https://open.spotify.com/user/1261993671/playlist/7KGHBLN8WbiQhrIfaVnPha?si=0WdSXiYZQyiqWnsf-j0mjA)’s state of mind upon finding [Bris](https://open.spotify.com/user/1261993671/playlist/7A6uTBCKbPtv1G8XfCAY0G?si=jKZgNQxDRq6z1NCiyXiYHg). It’s on the [Mooselkie Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1261993671/playlist/17NDAiOUZ0H4MyL38JhOF7?si=OvJ-KpldT0OmpE9yK1qvyA), too. I have a lot of songs like that, perfect for a spot in the story but I just can't fit them into the text. That reminds me, I need to add a bunch of playlists on the [Music Page](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14772668). [Dean](https://open.spotify.com/user/1261993671/playlist/10HXWvZMJr9ZkuX42qQAx0?si=7xDNuafSTDW7Q5odeRfapA), [Cas](https://open.spotify.com/user/1261993671/playlist/0RsPYM5w7dgfMr1W3Dzy2E?si=LX4k091uThul_zIdrCwtbQ), [Destiel](https://open.spotify.com/user/1261993671/playlist/5C5GyqIORStlDEztTuLdk6?si=Wieg6WwPQ1mdj6y2qvAfqA), and a few more can finally go up!
> 
> Also there's one just for [Bris and Crowley](https://open.spotify.com/user/1261993671/playlist/2mWBUY6qWCHIBfHADy5qhW?si=PKBoV7vcTK23Ghb_gCZF4g) as jilted lovers. (Yes. I have a lot of playlists.) (Fun Fact: "Keep 'em comin', joe," was a little reference to "The Lipstick on His Collar" by Caro Emerald. "Now Joe behind the bar is offering advice/ 'Cause I'm a broken record and he has to tell me twice..." "Now Joe just rolls his eyes and says it's just too bad...")
> 
> \---
> 
> {Rollin' in the Deep - Greta Van Fleet}  
> [Song](https://open.spotify.com/track/2VprRdTmbgyjXnDzHIcfNl?si=4UjiKVoNTQCaySgW37WUbw) ~ [Lyrics](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/gretavanfleet/rollinginthedeep.html)
> 
> {Hate U, Love U - Olivia O'Brien}  
> [Song](https://open.spotify.com/track/6ATgDc6e4sPn84hvJsAmPt?si=f1ZzeFahT0aJag_D2K1J5A) ~ [Lyrics](https://genius.com/Olivia-obrien-hate-u-love-u-lyrics)
> 
> {Written in the Water - Gin Wigmore}  
> [Song](https://open.spotify.com/track/6TG7ganwluLbRhn8EyHawf?si=qAbkjS_oQpOQQj4tCIVXEQ) ~ [Lyrics](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/ginwigmore/writteninthewater.html)
> 
> {Human - Rag'n'Bone Man}  
> [Song](https://open.spotify.com/track/58zsLZPvfflaiIbNWoA22O?si=1ezZpxZKTCSHZ_WHIZOOfg) ~ [Lyrics](https://genius.com/Ragnbone-man-human-lyrics)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible Trigger Warning: This chapter has some dialogue from the bad guy about 60% of the way through that could be triggering or just intense for those who have suffered assault. If you need to skip the end of this chapter feel free to comment/message me, perhaps I could summarize the important plot points, I usually respond within a day or two to comments/messages.

 

_It’s over. It’s over but… how could he not see the signs? How could he not put it all together? And now… now he’s…_

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Bris performed well on the walk back, leaning heavily into Sam for support and only stumbling a few times, so the fact that she’d literally been drinking all day didn’t really hit Sam until after they’d gotten back to the bunker. After an arduous journey full of giggles and tight clutches, they reached the bottom of the stairs, only to find Dean waiting for them at the map table.

Along with Eileen.

She stood from her chair, opening her mouth to say something—

Sam instinctively reached for Bris’s waist, but Bris was faster, deftly avoiding his grasp to stride solidly across the room. In a second flat she was only inches from Eileen's face, drawing up to her full height to tower over her, shoulders heaving and fists tight.

“You _ever_ touch him again,” she snarled low, “an’ I'll _personally_ rip yer throat out with my teeth.”

It was at times like this, like when Sam could swear he heard an actual growl behind Bris’s bared teeth, that he was most forcibly reminded that his significant other wasn’t exactly one hundred percent human, and was in fact, perhaps, just a little bit dangerous.

And, oh, wasn’t it odd that his heart chose just now to speed in his chest.

“Yes, um, thank you, Bris,” he stepped forward and managed to get his arm around her waist, bringing her back next to him, “I, ah, I think I’ve got it from here.”

Dean took a sip off of his beer.

“Sam, I only meant—” Eileen started.

“Whoa, hey,” Sam held up his hand, “unless you’re about to apologize, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“But Sam—”

“Eileen, I don’t… I don’t know what you were hoping for, but it’s not gonna happen. Maybe it could have before, but you vanished. You’ve been gone for all this time, and I thought you were dead. And you didn’t leave anything to tell us— to tell me that you weren’t, so what did you expect me to do? I grieved for you, and I moved on.” He met Eileen’s eyes. “I think it would be best if you did, too.”

“Sam—”

“Please. Look, just—” He squeezed his eyes shut and held Bris just a little tighter. She leaned further into him, uncrossing her arms to put one around his waist, too, and the clench in his heart eased just a bit. “Please, stop. I want you to stop.”

Eileen took a step forward, “No, Sam, you can’t—”

“Eileen,” he said sharply. “You should prob— You should start looking for another place to stay.”

Her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped.

But before Eileen could gather herself to say anything else, Bris pulled Sam along and led them out of the room, effectively giving Sam the final word on the matter and leaving nothing behind but her own wonderfully satisfied smirk.

Dean, having _silently_ watched these proceedings, like a smart man, now finished his beer with a little sigh and said to Eileen, _“Yeah,_ Bris ain’t kiddin’ about that teeth thing, either. I’d watch your back if I were you, sweetheart.”

He got up and left the table, leaving Eileen behind, still gaping, to head to the kitchen for a new drink, his mood having been so nicely boosted by that, that the sight of Ketch in the library only managed to irk him a little.

———

Bris shot Sam a smile when they reached the hallway and broke into a run, gripping his hand and pulling him along behind her. When they reached their bedroom door, Sam barely got it open before Bris was on him, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. He returned it just as eagerly, his happiness leaping from him as he bent down and picked Bris right up off the ground.

And _god,_ even after these months together her laugh was still a glorious thing— and the way she looked at him, with a smile that couldn’t possibly spread any wider— fuck, it was enough to light his fire all on its own.

He dropped her to the bed with a bounce, and her shrill giggles brought a matching smile to his face. He started at the buttons of his shirt, but Bris raised a hand at him.

“Hold on, now, hold on!” she reached over the edge of the bed, _"_ _You_ have some catchin’ up to do!”

Sam sighed, though it didn’t diminish his smile, “Come _on,_ what?”

“Yer too far behind me, it ain’t fair! I’m fuckin’ _celebratin’_ damn it!” But when she sat back up, it was with an empty whiskey bottle in her hand.  _“Ach,_ bollocks.”

She sprang from the bed and snatched Sam’s hand again, “C’mon! We gotta getcha somethin’! Somethin’ _good.”_

Sam rolled his eyes, but was ready to humor her. “Alright,” he allowed himself to be led, “but I’m not gonna have all that much.”

She yanked him out the door and back down the hall, and while Sam did his best to stifle his laughter at her weaving, he did absolutely nothing to restrain his joy at her unbridled enthusiasm.

———-

As Dean popped the top from his most recent bottle, Cas came to join him in the kitchen.

“Hey, Cas, wanna—” but Dean’s intended offer to join him for a beer was cut short at the sight of him. He was covered in muck and stains, twigs and leaves sticking out everywhere, and he looked absolutely crestfallen, keeping his eyes glued to the ground.

“Shit, buddy, what happened?”

Cas just shook his head, “I looked all over town... through the storms drains, even in nearby lakes, but I couldn’t find Bris.” He looked up from the floor to Dean, “Did you have any luck here?”

Dean raised a careful eyebrow at him.  _"Yeah…?_ She’s back already. Sam went and got her.”

Cas brightened immediately at the news, “Oh!”

“What? No, wait—” Dean lifted a palm, “Why did you go and head out again? You saw we found her phone at the bar.”

“What?”

“In the library, you were right there.”

Cas shook his head, “No I wasn’t. I was out all day searching. I haven’t seen you since I left.”

“What? Wait—” Dean almost spilled his beer trying to set it behind him on the counter. “Cas, you’re not fuckin’ with me are you?”

“No! Dean, what—?”

“Prove you’re you, Cas,” Dean said as he rifled through a drawer for the silver cutlery, “Quick— Fuck— What could have—?”

Cas’s hand shot to Dean’s shoulder, and he felt that wonderful, familiar rush that flowed through his very core as whatever bumps and bruises he might have had were healed by that soothing light.

Dean let out a shaky breath, *Thank god,* and he rushed out of the kitchen into the library, knowing that Cas would follow.

Bris was leading Sam from the hallway, heading somewhere in an obvious hurry, but just as they crossed the threshold into the library, Eileen stormed in from the map room, heading right for them.

Dean was only able to shout a warning _“Sam!”_ before everything went to hell.

With Dean’s shout, Sam spun at Eileen, one hand going for the gun at his hip and the other trying to pull Bris back behind him, but Bris’s momentum carried her away from him, and more prudently, Eileen vanished mid-step.

There wasn’t even time to twitch before she reappeared behind Sam. In the blink of an eye she had his arm twisted behind his back, forced him to his knees, and pressed a long knife to his throat.

At the sudden absence of Sam’s hand, Bris spun back, registered what she was seeing, and immediately lunged at Eileen. But she was slow and unsteady, and was easily thrown with the barest of motions from Eileen. She landed across the library, barely missing Ketch who was sitting at the table, crashing into a shelf with a cascade of books and papers.

Dean had his gun drawn in a flash, but Eileen just jerked the knife closer to Sam’s neck. She stared Dean down as a blood-chilling, toothy grin that didn’t reach her eyes spread across her face.

 _“Ahh,_ _Mis-_ tuh Winchester,” she said in a voice that was certainly not her own, “How _convenient_ you’re here. Seems we all need to have ourselves a little _chat.”_

Ketch leapt from his seat, grabbing at the table behind him in his desperate big to get away, _"_ _You said he was dead!”_

With a glare from Eileen, he was forcibly sat back into his chair.

“Patience, boy,” she drawled, “you’ll get your turn.”

Dean gritted his teeth and glowered over what he now realized was a useless gun. “Asmodeus.”

“Well now, look at that, and I thought _he_ was the smart bother!”

Bris was already getting back to her feet, fire in her eyes and ready to lunge again. But both Dean and Asmodeus shot her warning looks.

“You take another _step,”_ said Asmodeus, “and I’ll snap his neck with a _thought.”_

She stopped, though she visibly shook with the strain of it, chest heaving and teeth bared, holding herself up against the shelf as a cut in her hairline bled.

Dean turned back to Asmodeus. “I saw you die—”

 _“Please,”_ the demon rolled his eyes. “My kingdom comes under attack and you think I’m just gonna _sit_ like a _duck_ in my own throne room? Just what kinda _idiot_ do you take me for?”

“Well, the hillbilly kind, at first—”

There was a sickening crunch under Sam’s scream as Asmodeus sharply twisted his arm. Bris shouted for him, and Cas jerked forward, but Dean threw out an arm at her and a pleading face to him, begging them to stay put.

“You better watch that _sass_ , boy. Now... you are gonna tell me where my—”

“I’m not tellin’ you shit until you let him go.”

“What did I _just say?”_ He yanked the knife even closer to Sam’s throat, sending a thin streak of blood running down his bared neck into his collar.

“Hey-hey-hey, take it easy—”

“Oh we’re _well_ past easy, now! I _tried_ to do this the easy way— but I guess we’re gonna have to do this the _hard_ way.”

In a lighting fast motion Asmodeus whipped his hand up and grabbed Sam’s head. The eyes of Eileen lit electric blue and Sam screamed again. Dean reflexively fired at the demon, but the bullets did nothing. Of course the Colt was in his room, uselessly hidden—

Sam clenched his jaw against his shouts and his eyes flew wide. They flickered, the white blinking in and out, but Asmodeus just smirked.

“This wouldn’t hurt so bad if you didn’t fight me, boy,” and he tightened his grip.

It was over in a moment. A final, drawn-out cry fell from Sam and Asmodeus released him, allowing his head to limply drop forward. The demon returned the knife to his throat with a scowl.

“You don’t _know?”_ he strained, lip curling in a snarl. “Fine... Fine! I know who’s _really_ in charge of this operation. We’ll just go back to Plan A—” He jostled Sam and stared Dean down again, “Tell me where my angel is, or I paint the walls with your little brother.”

“Your angel—?”

Something caught Dean’s eye, though he didn’t dare look directly at it. In his periphery he saw that Sam was making a tiny, trembling signal with his free hand:

_Stall._

Dean hardened his glare at Asmodeus. “Not until you explain how the fuck you’re here! You were shot with a _Colt._ Nothin’ comes back from that.”

Breathing hard against the knife, Sam squeezed his eyes shut, his lips moving minutely with silent words.

Asmodeus shifted his weight, furrowing his eyebrows at Dean, “My _god,_ boy, is it really so hard to figure out? I left a _copy_ for that uppity pup to _chew_ on!”

The Demon Knife at Sam’s belt began to rise.

Keeping his gaze locked on the demon, Dean continued, “Yeah, no, that doesn’t explain how you’re _here.”_

Asmodeus frowned, “I take it back, evidently he _is_ the smarter brother.” He jabbed his chin at Ketch. “Your little stowaway gave me all the information I needed! He knew this young lady’s history surprisingly well,” He glanced down at his body.

The Knife shifted behind Asmodeus and continued to rise as Sam kept speaking silently.

“So when I realized I wasn’t getting through this damned lock-box of a hideout, I decided to put that knowledge to my advantage. And my goodness, I should have just done that from the start, you _idiots_ fell for it perfectly! I learned so many _wonderful_ tricks from my angel, and I'll have plenty more where that came from when you give him back to me.”

Dean was pretty sure he saw the words _I'm sorry_ repeating over and over on Sam’s lips.

“What, you can’t find him yourself?” Dean taunted.

 _“I tried!”_ Asmodeus roared, yanking harshly on Sam’s arm, causing him to cry out. “You pulled him into this damned _hole_ and before I figured a way in, he went and took off! I tried to track him for _days_ but I can’t find hide or hair of him!” The knife at Sam’s throat nicked him again, a fresh line of blood rolling down. “Now, I can only figure that you sent him on some _errand_ or other, so you’re gonna tell me right where he _is_ or—”

_“Sam!”_

Asmodeus snapped toward the map room, finding Gabriel gripping the doorway.

“Well, _well!”_ A wild, twisted smile contorted Eileen’s features. “Almost a pity, boy, I had such _wonderful_ tortures lined up for you.” He turned back to his hostage. “Now you get over here, angel, while I just clean up this mess...”

Asmodeus drew his knife back—

Sam’s eyes flew wide, shining brightly white, and he slammed his Knife into the demon’s back. Asmodeus roared in fury, releasing his hold, and Sam dropped to the floor, scrambling forward on his one working arm. Cas surged to reach him, lifting Sam to his feet, pulling him behind him as they backed away. Dean kept his gun trained on Asmodeus, stepping up in front of Sam, up next to Cas.

Unheeding of anyone’s instructions, Bris sprinted from the shelves, running right to Sam. She wrapped herself tight in his offered arm and faced down the screaming demon.

Asmodeus rounded on them, eyes blazing.

“You _insolent_ little—!”

But Asmodeus never finished that insult. In an instant he was writhing and screaming as flames erupted from his body.

Cas stepped in front of Dean now, arms thrown out before them all as the flames grew, taking on a life of their own, flaring out only to turn in on the demon again and again.

And Sam, Dean, and Bris stared in awe, rooted to the spot, but not at the fire— they gaped at the vast shadows they could now see in the light of this flame, spreading wide from Cas to protect them all; patchy and rough, but huge and resilient all the same.

The visage of Eileen was scorched away, replaced for a moment by the vessel they’d known before— though that, too, was soon consumed, burnt away as the last struggling cries of the Prince of Hell faded into nothing.

Gabriel lowered his hand, and the light in his own eyes slowly dimmed.

The moment it was over Cas spun around, one hand reaching out out to Bris who was nearest, but he stopped himself short.

“Bris,” he said, “you’re bleeding, could I heal that cut?”

That snapped her from staring at Cas. “Wha'?” She stepped back from Sam and raised a hand to her face. “Oh. Shit,” she said at the red on her fingertips. “Ah. Yeah. Yeah, ye better fix that— I s’pose. Thank you.”

She was taken care of quickly, but when he turned to attend to Sam, Gabriel appeared next to them and accidentally cut Cas off. Cas squinted in annoyance.

“Are you alright?” Gabriel asked Sam, his face painted with concern.

“Yeah, I, um... yeah I’m alright. I just—” Sam stared at him for a moment, before stepping forward to pull him into a one-armed hug— accidentally blocking Cas’s efforts again.

“You came back,” Sam said.

Gabriel stepped back, that familiar smirk once again pasted on his face, “Well, of course I did, Samalam! I mean, I practically _had_ to. Pretty hard to ignore the flood of ‘Oh please, Gabey, save me, please!’ prayers stuffing my head!”

“That’s not what I—!”

But Sam’s complaint was cut off by Bris jumping forward— right in front of Cas— to catch Gabriel in her own crushing embrace. His arms snapped stiff with a small squeak of surprise, but slowly, he brought his hands around her, gingerly patting her on the back.

She pulled back to face him, her eyes threatening tears. “Thank you.”

Gabriel’s stuttered acknowledgement was mercifully halted by a voice from the other side of the room.

_“Dia ár sábháil…”_

As one, they looked across the library and saw Direl, standing open-mouthed with a hand holding him up against the hallway wall.

He carefully avoided the conspicuous pile of ash in the middle of the floor and crossed the room, staring a bit at Gabriel as he came to stand by Bris. Sam made room for him in their little circle— foiling Cas yet again.

“What in Lord’s name did we jus’ see?” Direl asked Bris.

“Hells if I know,” Bris said, looking to the ashes, “but I’d be lyin’ if I said it weren’t satisfyin’ as fuck.”

“Tell me about it, sister,” Gabriel said, glaring at the pile as well.

Sam made to step over to retrieve his Knife, but now Cas jumped forward, gripping him like a vice and finally laying a hand on his injured arm. He grumbled his displeasure under his breath— *Dislocated shoulder, fractured ulna…* —as his palm lit to heal Sam’s wounds.

Sam looked to Cas with a smile, and pulled him into a hug when he finished.

“Thank you, Cas.”

More hugs were exchanged, reassurances were made, and explanations were given all around as they filled each other in on each of their pieces of this awful puzzle that had unfolded before them.

At some point Ketch edged his way out of the room, but no one took any notice of it, too busy with each other to care.

Over at the kitchen door, Dean holstered his gun and watched fondly as their crazy little family (and Direl) fussed over Sam, making sure he was really okay, wiping the blood from his neck and carefully checking his arm, all while Cas bristled at the notion that his healing abilities were being called into question.

And for the first time in a long time, watching them now, Dean felt… assured. Sam had come up with that plan all on his own. He'd used his freaky powers to one-up that asshole. He even had not one, but _two_ friggin’ angels batting in his corner. And damn, if Bris had been properly armed... he shuddered at the thought of what she’d have done to Asmodeus herself to save him. So yes, Dean was assured, because for the first time in a long time, he _knew..._

Sam was safe.

Sam was protected.

 

Sam was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dia ár sábháil_ = "God save us," an equivalent of "Good Lord!"
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~
> 
> A wild intermission appeared!  
> This is the last one, and I highly recommend you take this time to stock up on puppies and chocolate.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who’s ready for a Season Finale!? :D  
> -Gonna take this moment to give a quick reassurance that there is no Major Character Death in this series, and there are no plans to have any in the future. (Unless, like, Ultimate Endgame counts for that.) There is Pain coming, oh yes there is Pain, but not death.  
> Alright, onward to the final quarter of this piece!

Sam’s sleep was fitful that night.

As he lay in bed, he held Bris close to him, but even the comfort of her body against his, still sticky with the sweat of making good on her earlier promise, wasn’t enough to calm his churning mind.

Because... again.

It had happened again.

Right in the bunker this time.

And Sam had been powerless to stop it.

Again.

He held out a hand, flexing it in front of himself in the dark. What good was this, what good was all of this if he couldn’t even protect himself…

He ran his fingers gently through Bris’s hair, touching the place where she had been bleeding just hours before. It must have roused her some, because she shifted in her sleep, turning to face him, tucking her head under his chin and wrapping her arms so tightly around him it hurt.

...What good was all this, if he couldn’t even protect her.

 

———

 

When Sam met with Rowena the next day, he didn’t wait to speak up.

“I need to know what loopholes you’re using to get in here.”

Rowena looked up from the book she had set out, “Why? What happened?”

Sam explained the events of the night before.

“Sam...” she looked at him with sympathy, “we can’t fix that.”

“What?”

“Well, we could, but it sounds like Asmodeus was shrouded in angel's grace. So unless you want to boot out your fine feathered friends, that door has to stay open.”

Sam let his eyes shut with a sigh. He nodded and set his shoulders to face Rowena again, “Then I need to fill the loopholes in me.”

She straightened up and raised an eyebrow at him, “Do ya now.”

“I do.” Sam bristled at her flippant tone. “What Asmodeus did, I’m not letting that happen ever again.”

"You know, Samuel," she said with something between mockery and challenge, “no matter how much power you get, that feelin’ of helplessness, it’s never gonna go away.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, leveling a glare at her.

“I thought I made myself clear when I gave you that page,” his lip curled, “I refuse to believe that anymore.”

A proud smile spread across Rowena’s bright red lips. “Just wanted to hear ya say it out loud, dearie.”

With a gentle hand she guided Sam to sit at one of the weightlifting benches.

She raised her hands out at her sides, her eyes and fingertips glowing with her deep purple light.

“Now we can work some _real_ magic.”

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

####  **All Right Now**

 

Today was a good day.

[ _“...All right now, baby, it's’a all right now,_ _  
_ _All right now, baby, it's’a all right now…”_ ](https://www.pandora.com/artist/free/fire-and-water-deluxe-edition/all-right-now-bbc-sounds-of-the-seventies-sessions-23-06-1970/TRncpgkj4Xmlkb9)

Dean was in the kitchen, forming burger patties for lunch and singing along with his music.

 _“...I took her home, to my place,_  
_Watching every move on her face,_  
_She said ‘Look, what's your game, baby,_  
_Are you tryin' to put me in shame?’_  
_I said ‘Slow, don't go so fast!_  
_Don't you think that love can last?’_  
_She said, ‘Love? Lord above!_ _  
Now you're tryin' to trick me in love!’—”_

“You singin’ about me, lover boy?”

 _“What?”_ Dean jumped. “No! I—”

Bris hip-checked him with a grin as she rinsed her empty tea mug in the sink. “Easy, lad, I’m only coddin’ ye,” she chuckled as she went to the fridge.

Dean frowned at his hip, then at the crushed patty in his hands, and went about reforming it.

Bris pulled out the bowl of apple slices and cheese cubes, removing the saran wrap someone had placed over it and plucking out a slightly browned piece of apple.

Dean caught her eyeing his glass of whiskey sitting on the counter. He tipped his head at it. “I’d offer you some, but—” he held out a messy hand.

 _“Hm?_ No, ah, no, that’s fine.” She held up the apple slice, “Jus’ came fer this.”

Dean shrugged and continued his task.

But an uncomfortable silence soon settled in. So Dean tried to fill it.

“So… How you feelin’ since last night? Got everything… healed alright?”

She nodded with a smile. “Aye, Cas got me all patched up. Though my chest is a bit tight, gots a quare pressure in it, even though Sam an’ I ain’t even gone fer a run yet today. Thinkin’ I should ask Cas about it, make sure he didn’t overwork my ticker or nothin’.”

“Right. Yeah,” Dean huffed. “And how’s, um… How’s Sam doin’?”

Bris looked more surprised than Dean thought that question warranted. She looked at him warmly as she answered, “Considerin’ last night, I’d say he’s doin’ good.”

“Good. Good.” Dean picked up another handful of meat. “Just thought— with what that witch did, thought he might not take that mind-melding shit too well.”

Bris stopped mid-bite, “‘What that witch did’? What's this got to do with the curses she put on him?”

*Fuck,* Dean winced. He shook his head with a half-assed shrug, “She fucked with him, I dunno, ask Sam.”

He set his last patty on the plate and went to the sink.

Bris was eyeing him, but he kept his gaze down, watching the water wash the raw meat from his hands. Their silence stretched on for too long again.

Dean went to get a pan from the rack hanging above the island, the metal clanking loudly in the emptiness. One of them was going to have to say something, but— fuck— what did Dean even talk about with Bris? Goddamn... Seriously, Sam was probably gonna  _marry_ this girl someday and Dean couldn’t even—

His thoughts were cut short by Cas entering the kitchen.

“Oh— good. You’re both here,” Cas said, stopping at the island.

Fidgeting too much.

Dean barely had to look up to notice it as he set the pan on the stove. “What’s wrong, Cas?” he immediately asked.

Cas looked between the two of them. Then he drew himself up, and squared his shoulders. “I want to apologize,” he announced.

Bris frowned, “What for?”

“For not seeing the hellspawn in our midst.”

Dean sighed and started heating the pan, “Okay, Van Helsing, first of all, that’s not on you, none of us noticed.”

“You’re unable to see a demon’s true face—“

“He can’t, but I can,” Bris said, giving Dean a reproachful look at the way he'd rolled his eyes and scoffed down at the stove. “Can see their hearts anyways. I know full well what a demon heart looks like an’ hers didn’t look like no demon heart to me. Hid it damn well, she did.”

Cas looked to the floor. “That doesn’t excuse my inability to see through Asmodeus’s tricks. Because of my failure Sam was—”

“Look, just cut it with the fuckin’ pity party, alright, Cas?” Dean snapped.

“Dean!” Bris spun at him.

“None of us fuckin’ saw what the fuck was goin’ on around here, okay?”

 _“Oi!”_ Bris jabbed a finger at him, “Tha’s enough! We’re all upset, not jus’ you!”

Cas was looking at him, but Dean couldn’t read him. He was just… _staring_ again. God, he stared so fucking much lately— It got right under his skin and he had to turn away, flipping back to the counter to snatch an apple slice from the bowl, nearly toppling the whole thing in the process.

And still he could _feel_ that Cas hadn't looked away. “You’re right, Dean,” Cas said, “We all missed it. I’m sorry.”

Dean tensed.

“For angering you,” Cas amended.

Dean just shoved the apple in his mouth so he couldn’t say anything else. He slapped some burgers in the pan and frowned at how they sizzled. The pan was too hot.

The kitchen was painfully quiet until Cas spoke again.

“Bris, could I— Could I show you something?” he asked.

She pushed herself off the counter with a final look at Dean, “A’course, Cas—” and then she said something in that weird-ass Swedish Chef language.

Whatever she said, Cas brightened a little at it, and they left the kitchen together, chatting away.

Something ugly rose in Dean’s chest.

So it was just him. Everyone could talk to Cas but him.

~~Obviously. You don’t even know him~~

Dean frowned.

What?

~~_‘We all missed it.’_ That includes you, idiot~~

He froze with his spatula over the pan.

~~You had a whole fucking conversation with Asmodeus and you _never even noticed_ it wasn’t Cas~~

Dean stepped back from the stove.

~~Asmodeus tricked you _again._ You don’t know Cas at all. You have _no idea_ when it comes to him~~

Dean’s eyes darted, the building smell of overcooked meat lost on him.

~~You _completely_ missed it~~

~~_You_ fucked up~~

~~And then when Cas came to apologize, _you_ had the _gall_ to yell at _him?_~~

The spatula fell to the floor as Dean rushed out of the kitchen.

Bris and Cas looked up from their conversation as he passed them. If one of them said something, Dean didn’t hear it, he went right to his room and locked the door.

He didn’t register that his breathing was fast and shallow, that his heart was flying a mile a minute. Without asking, his feet began to pace, and his hands pulled at his hair.

He missed it. He completely missed it.

He yelled at Cas.

He was so _angry—_

_“We’re all upset, not jus’ you!”_

Just him. He was the only one who couldn’t handle this.

 

What the fuck was wrong with him?

 

He missed it. How could he miss it?

He should know Cas. He should know Cas better than anyone and he still—

This wasn’t working.

Normal wasn’t coming.

He wasn’t getting better.

Weeks—

It had been _weeks_ and nothing was changing. He was getting _worse._ He was hurting people— Hurting _Cas_ —

Dean roared and launched a fist at his door, it rattled loud but didn’t break. Hand throbbing, he spun from it and went to his dresser.

 

He had to get better.

 

He dug in his bottom drawer, pushing aside stupid shit he never wore in search of what he needed—

_“You need help and ye needed it yesterday.”_

_“You are not fine.”_

_“You know Cas is worried about you, right?”_

_“What the fuck is up with you lately?”_

_“I’m dealing with it, alright?” “Obviously you’re not.”_

 

_“Dean...”_

 

He had to get better.

 

His fingers brushed something solid and he breathed a sigh of relief.

*Thank god.* He pulled a white bottle from the back corner, and shook out a few pills.

Not even bothering to close the drawer, he snatched up the handle on the floor to wash them down.

As the burn of cheap Jack settled in his stomach, he sat on the edge of his bed, watching his hands shake as he waited.

He waited.

He flexed his trembling fists and he waited. There was a pounding— a loud pounding in his ears. It was too loud. His breath was harsh. It was too loud. He clenched his jaw and held his breath and he rocked a little. Just a little. Just back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth... back... and forth… forth… flexing his hands... back and forth… watching them... shake... waiting… breathing… and…

Fuck…

Yeah…

Okay.

He picked up that white bottle, now lying beside him on the bed, and with a quick shake he realized he only had a few days’ worth left. Setting it aside again, he pulled out his phone and dug through his contacts for a number he hadn’t needed in years.

“Hey, man. ...Yeah, yeah it’s Dean. ...Winchester, yeah. ...Hey, you, ah, you still in the business?”

He nodded as the person on the other end spoke. The corner of Dean’s lips twitched up.

“Alright,” he said, and that twitch grew into a smile. “Alright.”

 

———

 

“A’course, Cas,” Bris said as she pushed herself off the kitchen counter. She slipped into Gaeilge, _“You may speak to me anytime, my friend.”_

Cas knew that now, but it was still nice to hear it again. He schooled the small smile from his face with a somber tone, _“It’s about Dean,”_ he said.

_“Yes, I could have guessed as much.”_

They took their seats at the library table, and Cas began.

_“I think I saw what you were talking about.”_

A smile burst on Bris’s face, _“Oh! Wonderful!”_

Cas furrowed his brow.

 _“No?”_ she asked.

Cas shook his head, _“I’m more concerned about Dean than ever.”_

She raised an eyebrow, “ _Perhaps you should tell me what you saw.”_

_“He’s... acting so strangely. Especially around me.”_

“Yeah?” Bris nodded, her hopeful look returning.  _“What is he like around only you?”_

Cas sighed.  _“That’s when it’s the worst, he jumps and twitches, stuttering and unable to form full sentences, he drinks even more than usual. He’s so stiff, and I can’t talk to him, and he seems to be constantly flushed.”_

Much to his confusion, Bris’s smile only widened as he spoke.

Cas shook his head again, _“I don’t understand why you’re happy.”_

She rolled her eyes, _“_ _Cas_ _, you need to put the pieces together! Come on, I know you’re a clever man, put together everything you’ve seen from him and tell me what you saw!”_

Cas thought back on what he’d seen from Dean recently— his strange, concerning behavior and the shift in their friendship. He thought back further, remembering how upset Dean was before they went into Hell. He remembered how scared Dean was after Sam received aid from Rowena. He remembered how Dean had so urgently told him that he was more than his use to the family, that he was wanted, that he should stay. He remembered how Dean had aggravated internal lacerations in his rush to assure Cas that he had made a mistake and hadn’t rejected his gift. He remembered how upset he was over the grindylows. How guilty he felt when Cas returned from Asmodeus’s imprisonment. How crushed he was when Jack left. How worried he was when Cas had left to find Kelly.

Years of incidents ran through Cas’s head, and he understood.

_“I saw—”_

Just then Dean rushed through the library, hurrying right past them without a word. But before Cas could ask what was wrong, he picked up a concerning smell following Dean.

“Something’s burning.”

He and Bris jumped up and ran back to the kitchen where the pan Dean had apparently left was starting to smoke. Bris only managed an “Oh!” before Cas had already found the lid to the pan and moved it off the fire.

Dean's speaker, still sitting on the counter, began to skip and crackle with the distance from his phone.

Cas looked down at the burgers, charred and ruined, and he said to Bris:

“I saw a man with too many burdens—”

From across the bunker, he heard the distinct sound of a door rattling on its hinges.

“—and I don’t want to become just another one for him.”

Her soft inhale drew Cas’s attention from the stove. Bris’s shoulders dropped as she covered her mouth and shook her head, “Oh, _Cas_ …”

He tipped his head at her reaction. “Isn’t this what you wanted me to see?”

 _“No!_ A’course not!” she strained.  _“Cas_... ye wouldn’t be a _burden_ on him! You’d— Cas, you'd be a damned gift.”

“What?”

“Dammit, Cas, he only acts like a bleedin’ fool around _you.”_

Cas’s stomach dropped. “That's what I thought. I must be doing something to make him uncomf—”

 _“Argh!_ No— _Cas,”_ She gripped him tightly by the shoulders and locked his eyes, “He’s. _Nervous.”_

Cas raised an eyebrow, “Nervous.”

“Yes—! _Ach—_ ” She pulled back, pinching the bridge of her nose. “M’sorry, dearie, I keep forgettin’ where yer comin’ from on this. Look, everythin’ you  just told me, the way he’s behavin’— Cas, lad, he’s nervous around you. He’s downright _flustered.”_

Cas’s brows knitted together. “Nervous… and flustered…”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Bris, that’s— that’s how I feel around him lately.”

Her face was brightening again, “Yes, darlin’...”

“So you wanted me to see… that... that he's behaving the same way—”

 _“Yes,_ darlin’...!”

“—that you think he… you think he feels the same way that I feel about him.”

 _“Yes, darlin’!”_ Bris’s face was a beacon of joy—

Cas shook his head again. “No, I don't see it.”

 _“Jesus,_ Mary, and Joseph—!” She took a steadying breath. “Cas. You watch enough damned movies with him, certainly ye picked up _somethin’_ on this kinda stuff!”

“Dean doesn't watch those kinds of movies with me.”

“He doesn’t wa— _In ainm Dé_ _...”_  Bris dropped her face to her hand. “Alright. Cas.” She spread her palms. “You ever seen the way this boy looks at you?”

He frowned. “I suppose I’ve seen Dean looking at me before—”

“No, Cas, the way he _really_ looks at you. I'm tellin' ye, it’s not the look of a man what’s lookin’ at a burden to be lifted. It’s…” she took Cas’s hands in her own and met his eyes, “it’s the look of a man what’s finally seein’ what he’s always been searchin’ for.”

Cas’s eyes darted between hers, “No… no, Bris, that can’t be. He’s never said anything—”

“M’not surprised in the slightest, they way you lot are. If it’s managed to go on this long, I can guarantee this ain’t gonna be somethin’ you can find in what he says, it’s gonna be there in what he do. I mean, that's why I told ye what to watch him in the first place, so's you could see it fer yerself.”

Cas tried to process that, but something wasn't lining up. “No…” he said as he shook his head again, “Even if that… Even if Dean could… Bris, there's so much more. What you're suggesting doesn’t explain all of his behavior. He doesn’t do things he enjoys unless he’s extremely drunk, his emotions flip from one to the next, I hear his heart _pounding_ at the slightest efforts— There’s so much that I’m concerned abo—”

“An’ that _certainly_ ain't my business.” She dropped his hands.

“But Bris—”

“You wanna talk to him about that, you have yourself a gas, but I ain't gettin’ into that.”

“But Bris—!”

“It ain’t my place, an’ I don’t much _want_ it to be my place. I’m already helpin’ you two straighten this mess out— an’ I'm tellin’ ye, it's plain as the stripes on a zebra’s white arse. Figure it out, an’ all the rest a’ that will follow.”

With that she spun on her heel and left the kitchen.

Cas could only sigh after her. He returned to the stove, hoping to clean up the burnt burgers before it could upset Dean further. He weighed whether he should use his meager grace to simply disappear the mess or—

“What's that about zebra asses?”

Cas winced. Well so much for that.

He turned to Dean, “I believe Bris was using a simile to make herself understood.”

“Oh. That's cool.” Dean glanced away. He saw his speaker on the counter and lit up, “There you are!” He took it from the counter and clipped its carabiner to his belt loop. “Yeah, there we go, now I can't lose you.”

Dean then caught sight of the pan on the stove. He moved around Cas and lifted the lid. “Darn.”

“I'm sorry, Dean, I was about to clean that for you but—”

 _“Ahh,_ don't worry about it, Cas, it ain't your mess.”

He tossed the unsalvageable burgers in the trash and set about scrubbing the pan in the sink, humming along to the music now playing again at his hip.

Cas looked at him carefully.

“Dean,” he asked gently, “are you feeling alright?”

“Cas,” Dean smiled down at the sink, “I feel better than I have in a looong fuckin’ ti—”

Dean had looked over at Cas and stopped mid-word. Staring.

He cleared his throat and ducked his head, “Geez, uh, think I could use a drink. You want somethin’, Cas?” He shook his hands of the soapy water and took up his glass still on the counter to make his way over to the liquor cabinet.

“No, thank you,” Cas answered.

He noted that Dean was avoiding eye contact with him once again.

Dean returned to the stove, refreshed drink in hand. “What was I doin’?”

“Cleaning the pan in the sink.”

“Oh, right. Thanks.”

He set his drink down and started on the pan again, another smile pulling at his lips.

Cas narrowed his eyes. Whatever seemed to have bothered Dean before wasn't affecting him now.

Dean glanced over at him, but quickly locked his eyes back on the sink. “You keep starin’ like that, you’re gonna get a guy all nervous, Cas.”

Cas’s eyes flashed wide in surprise. “My apologies, Dean, I... didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable, Cas,” Dean corrected immediately. Pan now clean, Dean returned to the stove and prepared to try the burgers again.

Cas nodded and stepped back, “That’s… good to know, Dean, thank you.”

“Um… you’re welcome?”

Cas continued to back toward the doorway. “Excuse me, I’m just... going to go check on something…”

“Have fun,” Dean absently waved his spatula at him.

Cas left the kitchen and swiftly headed down the hall for an empty bedroom.

Bris may have been an expert, but surely even she couldn’t know everything. So Cas decided he needed a 'second opinion.'

Locking the door behind him, he settled on the edge of the bed and pulled out his phone.

Cas had research to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _In ainm Dé_ = In God's name, Lit: "In the name of God", an equivalent to "For God's sake!"


	14. Chapter 14

Today was a good day.

After a rigorous lesson with Rowena and a lunch of Dean's burgers, Sam found himself at the kitchen counter, once again preparing dinner with Bris. This time their music flowed around them straight from Bris’s phone, as apparently Dean wasn’t about to part his speaker anytime soon. Not that Sam minded in the slightest, he could only be glad Dean liked the gift so much.

Now in the kitchen, Sam was practicing with that knife again, but this time, instead of directing it to move with his mind, he was working on an enchantment to have it cut all on its own. It was tricky, the knife kept stopping or faltering this way or that, but he kept at it, and eventually, with a loud whoop, he got it to go on its own.

Leaving the knife to do its job, he went to the fridge to reward himself with a beer. “You want one?” He held one out to Bris.

She turned to see what he was offering. “Oh. No thanks, love.”

But as she turned back, her eyes lingered on the knife before she returned to the fish she was scaling.

Before, Sam would have probably just let that go. But not this time, not anymore, not after everything that had happened to them.

“Hey.” Sam paused halfway across the kitchen to lean against the island. “We’ve um, we’ve never really talked about that, have we?”

“Talked about what?” 

“About… that,” he gestured over at the knife.

She looked from it to him. “What’s there to talk about?” she asked honestly.

“I mean, does it bother you?”

She followed the knife’s motion with her eyes. “A’course not, Sam,” she said.

Though her voice fell a little flat.

Sam came around the island, returning to her side and reaching out to her elbow. “Hey.”

She stopped and looked up to him.

He made sure to hold her gaze, “You know I want you to tell me things, too, right?”

She set down her knife with a little eye roll. “Damned cute hoor, turnin’ my own words against me.”

Sam chuffed and turned to lean on the counter, “Are you actually upset that I want to talk about things?”

 _There_ was a smile, small, but wonderful as ever. “No, a’course not.”

“Then would you tell me what’s wrong?”

She looked at the knife again, dutifully chopping on, and sighed. “It’s not your magic.”

“It’s not?”

She looked back to him, eyes narrowed, “No. Why do you think I’d be upset about yer magic?”

“Well, I… Yesterday... when I…”

“Ah,” she nodded. “Yeah... guess I made myself plenty clear how I felt about that, didn’t I?” She brought a gentle hand to his cheek. “I’m so sorry I did that, love. I  shouldn’t’a. I were beyond locked but that’s absolutely no excuse. God, that only makes it worse, really.”

Sam placed his hand over hers, pulling it back down, “It’s okay. I should never have used my abilities against you like that. I’m sorry.”

“But you was right, an’ I weren’t listenin’—”

“No, Bris,” he stopped her, “I never should have done that. Look, we both fucked up, I think we’re even.”

She gave him half a smile. “Yeah. I s’pose so.”

“So... you’re really not bothered by the magic?”

“Yer magic is a part a’ you, love, an’ I love every part a’ you. Now what ye do with them parts, that’s on you.”

He chuckled through a smile, and pulled her in for a hug. “Alright. But if it’s not that, then what is it?”

She tensed against him. “It’s... I guess… It’s jus' you been so… secretive about it.”

Sam’s heart clenched. Fuck, he really should have seen that turn coming.

“I just… um… I just don’t want Dean to find out.” That was true, he reassured himself. It was at least _a_ truth.

“Sure, but what am _I_ gonna find out? I know you’re havin’ them lessons, but like ye said, it’s been how long now an’ we haven’t even talked about it at all?”

Shit— What should he say to that? Shit, shit—

“I mean,” she blessedly continued, smiling wide, “I knows ye wasn’t playin’ offsides with that demon, but maybe yer gettin’ yerself a little witch-y action off’a the top there.”

Sam smiled right back, “Of course not.”

“Wouldn’t blame ye one bit, she’s a right splendid little thing.”

“No _way,”_ he pulled her in tight, nearly bending her over backwards with his kisses, “only little thing I need is you.”

“I ain’t little, ye great sap!”

“Oh, you’re not?”

He scooped her up in his arms and sat her up on the counter, her sparkling giggles mixing with their kisses.

“Alright, _alright,_ ye damned lug!” she pushed him away with a smile. “Then what is it?” she asked, running a hand down his jaw. “What are ye so scared of here?”

Sam’s smile faltered.

“I’m not— I’m not scared.”

“It’s alright if ye are. I promise.” Her thumb stroked over his cheek. “You’re at least worried about somethin’. Please, love… tell me things, too. Let me in.”

Sam searched her dark eyes, looking back at him with nothing but love and concern, and that rock in his gut churned.

Not anymore, he reminded himself. He’d almost lost her yesterday. And he knew he wouldn’t make it through something like that again.

He took a breath. Maybe… maybe she’d understand. Maybe she’d be okay with it.

And if she wasn’t…

Maybe it wasn’t worth it.

“I’m afraid…” he started slowly, “that you’ll be upset. I’m afraid you’ll be scared of it, of the types of magic we’re doing, and of what we’re going to do with it.”

She nodded and rested her forehead against his. “Is this to do with that fight Rowena were talkin’ about before?” she asked him for a second time.

 _“Yes,”_ he answered, his relief spilling out in one simple word. “I’m so sorry, Bris, I didn’t want to lie to you, this is just so big, it’s dangerous and—”

She cut him off with a kiss. *It’s alright, Sam. I understand.*

He felt a burn behind his eyes that he tried to blink away. “God… Someday I’m gonna stop being surprised by that.”

“Hopefully sooner than later.”

He slipped his hand behind her head and kissed her once more, putting plenty of his adoration behind it, but he was sure to say afterwards, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Sam leaned back, wiping quickly at his eyes as a smile pulled on his lips. “How about… What if you joined me? Sat in on a lesson with Rowena. We have a new subject planned in a few days and I can explain more of this then with her help.”

“It's a date,” Bris smiled, and gave him one last peck on his nose before she hopped down from the counter.

They went to return to preparing the food, but they found the knife— vegetables all cut but still chopping away at nothing— slowly digging a gouge into the wood of the cutting board.

“Damn it.” Sam said a quick spell and the knife ceased its work.

“Just gotta keep an eye on it next time,” Bris gave his waist a consoling squeeze. “Though I gotta admit that’s pretty nice, you bein’ able to do that.”

Sam smiled, and they finished making dinner together.

 

———

 

Cas’s eyes flicked across his phone screen.

But he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Two-hundred and eighty-seven videos. Hundreds of movie scenes, multiple advice channels…

Everything was here.

The eye contact that lasted, the touches that lingered, the stuttering, the faltering, the blushing, even the excessive drinking—

Dean did these things all the time.

And more.

So many of the scenes in these movies were analogous to Dean’s actions:

When Dean had insisted Cas stay behind on the mission to Hell for his own safety. When Dean had been so upset that he had forgotten to bring Cas’s gift on the drive to Massachusetts. When Dean had lit up so intensely at the sight of his birthday cake and yet became _even_ _happier_ knowing _Cas_ had made it. When Dean had been so happy to find out that _Cas_ had given him that cassette. When Dean had been so jumpy throughout their trip to Chicago and Rhode Island. When Dean had attacked that afanc. When Dean dove in after him when he’d been pulled under by the grindylows—

Cas slapped his coat pocket.

The mixtape.

He was pushed back further, overwhelmed with years of memories all at once— Sam said Dean had been inconsolable while Cas had been in the Empty. Dean had been particularly upset when he had left for Washington with Kelly. Dean had been so concerned after he had killed Billie. Dean had grabbed him so urgently after they cured Rowena’s attack-spell. The way Dean had mis-remembered his exit from Purgatory.

What Dean had said… in the crypt the Angel Tablet was hidden in… He had said…

He had said so many things. But Cas hadn’t recognized them for what they were.

 _I_ _want you here!_

_You’re worth hurting over..._

_I_ _need_ _you._

_I'm not leaving here without you._

How had he not put all this together before...? How had Dean not said anything directly before...?

One memory jumped forward:

When Dean had leapt from the table that day… he’d stared at Cas with such fear in his eyes. He’d never explained that, and Cas had never asked him to, but now... Had that been when Dean realized…? The way Cas was realizing...?

Did Dean really…?

The idea that Bris was right, that Dean felt the same way as he did now, it overwhelmed Cas. To have these desires from afar was one thing, but to imagine they might be returned— Cas almost laughed. Then he did, a sharp bark at the notion that after all this time, after all of this time that he’d spent confused and upset about these feelings, Dean might have as well, both of them flailing in this ridiculous puddle of conflictions, thinking all along it was an insurmountable sea.

That Dean could want him back... For a golden moment it swelled in him, outshining his every concern, _blinding_ him with sheer _hope—_

But it all snapped back in an instant. And Cas swore. And suddenly he understood why the number of letters in the word hope was important.

This wasn't something he could have. This wasn't something he even deserved...

But _oh,_ did he want it.

If Dean really felt the same way, there was a chance that he could have everything he’d been afraid of for these past weeks, the quiet desires, and the loud ones, too.

If this was what Bris and Gabriel said it was...

If he was careful not to let it consume him as it did Ishim...

Then there would be so much he would be able to do.

For just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine it, to imagine what could be if this were allowed to run its course...

He could spend even more time with Dean than he did now, and that thought alone elated him.

He could comfort Dean, with small words and touches that he currently held back.

He could, perhaps, let Dean rest his head against his shoulder…

He could, perhaps, rest _his_ head against Dean’s resting against his shoulder...

He could... maybe hold Dean’s hand…

He could hold _Dean..._

He could… maybe... he could _kiss_ Dean… Kiss him and then—

Cas stopped his mind from running any further. He was getting too far ahead of himself again.

This wasn't something he could have. Angels weren’t meant to feel these things. Angels _certainly_ weren’t meant to _act_ upon such feelings. And more importantly, this wasn't something Cas could even dream to deserve. If anything in his Father’s Creation was fair, people got what they deserved, and Cas _absolutely_ didn’t—

He froze. He almost dropped his phone.

That wasn’t true.

People didn’t get what they deserved.

 _Nothing_ in Father’s Creation was fair. It never had been.

If Father’s Creation was fair, then Sam would never have been burdened with the weight of being the Vessel of Lucifer, or with the task of dragging Lucifer into the Cage, or with his suffering in Hell.

If Father’s Creation was fair, Dean wouldn’t have been burdened with being Michael’s Vessel, with being designated the Righteous Man to suffer on the Racks for the heinous sin of his own father resisting Temptation.

If Father’s Creation was fair, Bris and her family would never have been allowed to suffer in Crowley’s farm.

If Father’s Creation was fair, then good people wouldn’t suffer. And the idea that they didn’t… that was just _asinine._

Why… Why would he have ever thought that Father’s Creation was fair? That had never been a feature of Creation. That was _ridiculous…_ it was _ludicrous—_

_You’ve never done what you were told. Not completely._

Cas’s phone clattered to the floor.

If Father’s Creation was fair, He wouldn’t have allowed Naomi to invade his mind. His mind, Samandriel’s mind, who knew how many others _—_ betrayed by their own brothers and sisters to further the will of Heaven.

It didn’t matter if Cas deserved Dean.

Because nobody deserved anything.

It didn’t _matter_ if he wasn’t supposed to pursue Dean.

Because Heaven didn’t deserve _him._

And besides, Cas was already…

_You’ve already broken it... Your actions speak loud and clear._

He had already Fallen.

That word used to strike terror into his heart— even _thinking_ it had wrapped him in such terrible shame— but now… now it was _liberating._ One word to encapsulate the horrors of the last decade, the trials he had gone through— All of this time he had been free, but he had been squandering it, trying to patch up a family beyond repair.

But not anymore.

Cas stood from the bed—

And he sat right back down.

He was getting ahead of himself again.

There was a chasm before him, between his hopes and where he stood now.

His research suggested that Dean had shown signs of these feelings for years, but now that Cas was finally seeing them... what did he do? He knew what he wanted, yes, but he didn’t know how to get there.

But he knew someone who did.

Cas stood from the bed.

He needed to speak to Bris again.

 

———

 

“Okay, lad.”

Direl’s hand on his chest brought Sam to an abrupt stop in the doorway of the kitchen, almost causing Bris to bump into him.

Sam brushed the hand away, “Okay what?”

Direl pointed across the library, directing their attention to Gabriel building a tower of books on the table.

“Now that one,” Direl said, “is _he_ single?”

Sam snorted. But before he could answer Gabriel said, “You can put those ga-ga eyes away, kid, I don’t play your game.”

Direl drew back, staring as at least three different reactions battled across his face.

Bris giggled as Sam leaned over to him, “Yeah, angels have _really_ good hearing.”

Indignation finally won out over Direl, “I am _no’_ a kid! I’m more’n a hundred and sevent—”

Gabriel appeared next to them, the book tower swaying precariously without him. “Uh-huh. And I'm older than Life itself. I think I win.”

Direl ticked back in surprise before narrowing his eyes. “Fine,” he conceded. He crossed his arms and looked down at Gabriel, “But what’s that crap about not playin’ my game? I can see clear as day you’re not picky in the slightest,” he gestured at Gabriel's chest.

“‘Course not, but _you’re_ not seeing the whole picture. Me-thinks you need a _lit_ -tle more practice reading those hearts,” Gabriel teased.

Direl frowned. “Ye can jus’ tell me ye don’t like me.”

“Oh, no, I like you well enough,” he generously looked Direl up and down, “but I've been around this block enough times to know that I'm not your type.”

“Right, well—” he bumbled. “Well what the eff is _that_ s'posed to mean?”

“Yeah, what are you talking about, Gabriel?” Sam asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Think about it, guys, a selkie and an angel?” Gabriel gestured between the two of them. “We're basically opposites.”

“What?” said Bris and Direl.

“What you're looking for, all that mushy stuff, the _romance_ and the _ooey-gooey,_ I just don’t do that.”

Direl frowned again, “Ye… don’t do…”

“It’s just not there. No big deal, I just don’t do this the same as you.”

“Ye don’t…” Direl was still obviously lost.

“Wait,” Sam stepped in, “do you mean like... aromantic?”

“Well, I— Huh. Yeah, actually, that sounds like a good name for it.” Gabriel shrugged. “Whatever you call it, I just know Romeo here ain't up for it.”

“Ye don't…” Direl seemed to finally be catching up to them, “Ye don't do _love?”_

“Sure I do, just not your kind.”

“Not my... But doncha… Well aren't’cha lonely?”

Sam cringed, but Gabriel took the question in stride. “Of course not! I’ve got the world at my fingertips and a ticker that just won’t quit,” he winked at Direl and thumped his chest with a fist. “I’ve got friends all over the place, I’ve got Love out the wazzoo!”

The confusion on Direl’s face only deepened.

Gabriel sighed. “This is why I don’t get involved with selkies, you bunch put romance before everything else. Newsflash, that’s why all your myths are tragedies, bucko. I know this is hard for your cute little seal brain to get, but there's more to life than just throwing yourself all over someone else.”

Bris and Direl didn’t seem to register the insults being sent their way, too busy frowning at Gabriel. Direl shook his head, “So ye don’t… do… relationships?”

“Oh sure I do, it’s just different than yours. Now some of my brothers and sisters? Not so much. But I do. _Especially_ with humans that think like me, that’s my favorite.”

Direl thought for a while. “So maybe ye jus’ haven’t met the right person?” he offered.

Now Gabriel’s nose crinkled with a suppressed cringe, “Boy if I had a porn star for every time I’ve heard that...”

Direl huffed indignantly. “Well everyone finds _someone.”_

Gabriel snorted. “No they don’t.”

“What? Everyone’s got _someone_ out theres just waitin’ for ‘em—”

“Oh, are we jumping into soulmates already?” Gabriel smirked. “Usually this takes a little longer to come up.”

“What?”

Gabriel blinked from view and reappeared in a chair, leaning back in it with his feet up on the library table. “Kid, I’ve had this whole conversation before. I’ve had this conversation with _selkies_ before. I could recite this all _backwards_ by now.” He tucked his hands behind his head and leaned further back. “There’s no such thing as someone’s _one true soulmate._ A soulmate is just someone you’ve bonded with so strongly that your personal little Heaven bubble would be crummy without ‘em.” He looked out of the corner of his eyes at Direl, “There’s nothing special about your kind of love. It grows just like anything else.”

Direl frowned. “Well— But—” He raised a triumphant finger, “But what about Sam and Bris!”

“Now hey—” “Wait a tick—” Sam and Bris raised their palms.

“These two could separate right now and they’d still be able to find someone else who could love them just as much.”

“But—” Direl tried.

Gabriel sat up in his chair, letting its feet clack to the floor, “Just think about it for a minute. Having _one destined soulmate—_ it would be so tedious, and so… boring!” He vanished and appeared next to Direl, “Are you my soulmate?” next to Sam, “Are _you_ my soulmate?” next to Bris, “Are _you_ my soulmate?”

He reappeared cross-legged on the table. “Now I love a good Soulmate Romance novel as much as the next guy, but out here in real life— well there’d be no fun in it! No adventure! You’d find that one someone and the story would already be over! No, the way Dad’s organized things here, it’s so much better than that.”

He appeared next to Sam and Bris again, “I mean, yeah, let’s talk about these two turtle doves! Isn’t it amazing that they found each other? They’re so lucky, to be in the same place, at the same time, with so many conditions met that they could actually hit it off! How many things had to happen just right for this cutie-patootie to find that firebrand in the first place? How many things had to go right so they could realize just how well they happen to fit together? And now they’ve got it, but are they gonna keep it? Tune in next week, ‘cause this shindig ain’t over at the big kiss! There’s no guarantee. There’s no card that says ‘Go directly to soulmate, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred smooches.’ This is all on them, and _I_ sure think that’s _way_ better than any of that destiny crap. Sure, the Fates are around, doing their thing, but Free Will is what’s meant to run this joint, no doubt about it. There isn’t _anybody_ around telling any of you adorable, stubborn things what to do, just the way Dad wanted it.”

Gabriel walked back to his chair, “And I like that about Dad’s Creation. There’s so many possibilities, so many ways this cookie could crumble, and I just love to admire them all.” He leaned back on two legs again, “From afar, that is.”

The three of them could only blink in the wake of Gabriel’s speech, taking it all in.

Direl managed to speak first. “The way you talks about it… how do ye not want that fer yourself?”

Gabriel appeared right in front of Direl, locking his eyes with a sharp, challenging glare.

“You strike me as the kind of man who appreciates a nice, strong whiskey.”

Direl’s eyebrows shot up, “I— ah— Yeah, I s’pose—”

“Do you wish you _were_ whiskey?”

“I— What?”

“Do you secretly wish, perhaps, that you were not you, but instead were a glass of the most beautiful, heavenly, smooth, oaky whiskey that your little imagination could conjure up?”

“Wha— No! Why would I—”

Gabriel reappeared in his chair, placing his arms behind his head and shutting his eyes, “Why would I want to be anything other than me?” he finished for Direl, “An excellent question, my fine, furry friend. I don’t.”

Direl opened his mouth a few times, raising a finger and dropping it again before he seemed to give in, and walked off in silence toward the hallway of bedrooms.

Sam looked down at Bris, who had gone awfully quiet beside him. “Hey, um, are you—”

She snatched his hand and dragged him off to the hallway, too.

Gabriel chuckled and blinked out, reappearing back at his tower of books. “Yeah,” he said to himself, “that talk is usually pretty popular with the lady selkies.”

———

Sam stumbled down the hallway behind Bris, pretty sure he knew where this was going but wanting to make sure. “Whoa, hey— Bris—”

She spun back and pulled him down for a searing kiss.

“I _knew_ it,” she declared.

Sam blinked, a little star-struck from the burn of her lips. “Ah— Knew what?” he asked through a lopsided smile.

“Fate! An' Purpose! Fuck the lot of it! There ain’t no destiny, there’s just— what we do! Ain’t nobody tellin’ me what to—!"

She froze.

Sam looked down at her, concern rising, "Ah—"

*Inas were wrong.*

"What?"

"Inas were _wrong!"_ she repeated, a wild, half-crazed smile growing on her face. She grabbed his hand again and took off once more. “You was right, an' Inas were _wrong!_ Ain't no one tellin' me what to do! Ain’t _nobody_ shovin’ me at you, or at Dean-o—!”

“Wait, what?”

“He’s still pullin’ on me. M'thinkin’ now it’s just crossed wires, his heart’s so damned empty— Look, I’ll explain in a bit.” She barely slowed down as she threw open the door to their room.

Sam barely shut it behind them before she was on him again, kissing him senseless and roughly working the buttons on his shirt. “First thing’s first, though, I need to fuck you about six ways through Sunday—” she yanked him down for another kiss, “—an’ then I should pro’ly find Cas.”

 _“What_ —?”

“We been talkin’, I’ll explain in a bit.” She ripped his shirts off over his head, in such a hurry she left one sleeve dangling from his wrist. “I _knew_ it. I fekkin’ _knew_ it. Fuckin’ hell, all that _shit_ what the nuns tried to shove down my throat, what Ma done told me for _years—_ But here’s a goddamned _archangel, Gabriel_ the _goddamned Archangel,_ tellin’ me what! An’ I just— _Fuckin’ hell.”_

She pushed him to the bed, climbing into his lap to shower him with kisses, _“Is tú mo rogha. Is tú mo rogha, a chuisle mo chroí.”_

“I’m—” his forehead wrinkled in confusion, “I’m your flower?”

“Yer my favorite,” she translated for him, smiling against his lips. “Yer my _choice._ I love you, my dearest— my pulse a’ my heart.”

 _“Is tú mo rogha,”_ Sam repeated, trying to wrap his tongue around that difficult final word.

 _“Ah, fuck,” _Bris sighed as she bit her lip, looking down at him with heat in her eyes.

He smiled at her reaction and pulled her in for more, whispering into her ear, _*Tá mo chroí istigh ionat.*_

She shivered against him. “Fuck yeah, it is.”

She pushed him back onto the bed and took him for all he was worth.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Late that night, Cas came back into the library.

Bris had searched high and low in the bunker for him, but eventually she’d had to concede defeat, so she and Sam had set up in their reading corner to wait for him to come out or return from wherever he might be.

When he did finally reappear, though, Bris knew right away from the determined set of his eyes that he needed to talk to her as much as she did to him, maybe even more so.

“Sam, darlin’, I need you to head out for a tick.”

 _“Hm?”_ His head popped up from his book. “Do I get to ask why?”

“‘Cause you’ve picked up enough Irish that I don’t think Cas’ll wanna talk in front’a you.”

“What?” Sam looked up to where Cas was making his way over. “Oh, geez. You sure you don’t want my help?”

“I’ll call ye if we do. Why doncha go find Dean-o an’ keep him busy a whiles.”

“Sure, alright.” Sam stood with his book and placed a quick kiss to Bris’s forehead. “Good luck,” he smiled, and left to check the map room.

Cas snatched up a chair from the library table, planting it and himself right in front of Bris.

 _“Everything,”_ he said, starting right off with Gaeilge.  _“Everything you said, I found it all. I watched hundreds of videos, scenes from every romantic movie I could find and... Everything you said. Things you didn’t say. It was all there.”_ He met her eyes. _“I think you may have been right.”_

Bris drew back at his heavy tone, frowning at him as she searched his face.

That _certainly_ wasn’t the face of someone who’d just realized his feelings were returned.

 _“But this is a_ _good_ _thing,"_  she said. _"Why do you look like you’re about to attack on someone?”_

Cas sat up straighter in his chair, dropping his eyes.  _“Please accept my apologies. It’s been an… enlightening afternoon.”_ He looked to Bris again.  _“Bris… What I realized— about Dean— I think this may have been going on for years. I’m not sure but—”_

 _“It has been years,”_ she affirmed. _“I don’t know how much Dean knew himself, but it’s clear on both your hearts that you two have been spinning around each other for a_ _very_ _long time.”_

Cas’s frown deepened.

_“My friend, wait, this is a good thing! It means he’s going to be so happy to hear that you feel the same way!”_

_“So you think I should tell him?”_

_“_ _Holy damnation_ _, of course!”_ Christ, she could smack this angel.  _“ Certainly, _ _you should tell him!”_

_“But, Bris, he’s been so… he’s so troubled lately. I meant it when I said he has too many burdens to bear—”_

_“And I meant it when I said you would be a blessing on him. Love him first, and the rest will come in time.”_

The determination Cas had charged in with seemed to slip from his face. His eyes fell to his lap, darting as he slowly slumped.  _“Bris… I don’t…”_

 _“What?”_ she placed a hand on his knee, _“What is it, dearie?”_

Cas placed his hand over hers, _“I don’t… Even if you’re right and he’ll be happy if I tell him… I don’t know what to do.”_

_“What to do?”_

_“I... all the movies I’ve watched— with Dean and without— all the stories in my mind, all that I know about this—”_ He waved a hand near his head.  _“They always end after the climax of the story, they end after the confessions are made. I don’t know what comes after. I don’t…”_

He wouldn’t look up from the floor, his voice barely a whisper. 

_*Bris, I don’t know how to love him.*_

A tiny squeak of a whine escaped Bris's throat, bringing Cas's gaze back up to hers. She looked at him with watery eyes, her other hand now placed on her chest, _“Oh, Cas, dearie, when are you going to stop tearing my heart to pieces?” _

_“Oh— Oh no—! I’m sorry—!”_

_“No— wait— I'm sorry, I didn’t mean I’m upset, I’m sorry,”_ she soothed. _“Cas... I think you know more than you think you do. You told me so well before that you want to care of him, to just be with him, and that’s what love is! You care for each other, you respect each other, you help each other, protect each other— I mean, goodness, you and Dean are almost already there, just the way you are!”_

He perked up a bit, _“Really?”_

 _“In God’s name, you are!”_ she smiled at him.  _“Why do you think it’s been so frustrating trying to get you to see it? All you’re really missing are the fun bits!”_ She winked. _“But the first thing you have to do is tell him. You don’t get to have any of the rest of it until he knows you feel the same way he does.”_

Cas frowned, and placed a hand over his chest.  _“I… I feel like I can’t. There’s these nerves, these baffling nerves—”_

She patted his other hand soothingly, _“That’s completely normal. That’s just the fear that he could say no. And as impossible as I think it is, there is always the chance he will tell you no, and you should be ready to hear that.”_

Cas’s eyes flew wide in panic, _“What do I do then?”_

_“Then you accept it, and you stay his friend, and you keep on as you were. And it will hurt, but certainly you wouldn’t have really loved him if you weren’t ready to respect his wishes.” _

Cas nodded.  _“I shouldn’t assume anything.”_

Bris smiled. Cas was going to do just fine. _“Exactly. But that said, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’m telling you, he’s crazy for you, and it’s getting a bit ridiculous that the both of you couldn’t see this.”_ She sat back with a chuckle, _“I mean, goodness, if_ _you_ _don't do something Sam_ _surely_ _will.”_

“Sam?”

_“He is literally biting at the bit to take the back of your heads and shove you both together. I’ve been holding him back for months now, you’re goddamned welcome.”_

_“I— Thank you. I think…”_

_“You’re welcome,”_ she smiled at him again. _“Now you go find Dean and you tell him this or I swear to the Lord above us that I will send a cat to eat you and then feed that cat to the devil.”_

“Um,” Cas recoiled, _“I will— I will do that. Specifically to avoid that fate.”_

“Fierce,” Bris said with a wide smile and a sharp nod. “Well, off you go then! Gotta figure out what’cher gonna say! Big moment after all.” Her own revelations could wait. This was far more important.

“Right. Yes,” Cas said as he stood from his chair. “A very big moment.”

Cas returned his chair to the table, and left the library, leaving a happy, hopeful Bris smiling to herself in his wake.

 

———

 

####  **(** **Ain't No Man** **)**

 

As he expected, Sam found Dean in the map room. He’d been spending a lot of time in there lately. Alone. Away from everyone. He seemed fine right now, though, sitting at his laptop with his headphones on like usual.

Well… then again… Sam’s concern grew as he approached the table. Dean’s laptop was playing something, but Dean wasn’t looking at it, instead staring a few inches above the screen at nothing in particular. Sam set down his own laptop and Dean sort of jumped, more of a slow twitch, and he turned to face him with heavy eyes.

 _“Hey_ there, Sammy,” he smiled at him, “Wha’s goin’ on?”

That slur in his speech was more concerning still. Sam just played it off, “Oh, you know, just wanted to come say hi. Haven’t, um... we haven’t really talked in a while.”

Dean frowned at him. “How come?”

“Well— You asked me not to.”

“Oh. Well that wasn’ very nice a’ me, was it?”

“No... I guess not...”

Dean seemed almost… drunk. Yeah, maybe drunk. Huh. Sam hadn’t seen Dean properly blitzed in months.

He was forcefully reminded of all the liquor bottles he’d been putting out of his mind.

“Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“Have you been…? You’ve been... kind of having a lot lately,” Sam gestured at the almost-empty tumbler on the table.

“Yeah…” Dean nodded for a little too long at the glass. “Makes… ah... Makes th’ feelin’ go ‘way.”

“Oh.” Sam’s stomach churned. “Um, what feeling, Dean?”

“Oh, y’know,” he picked up his drink and downed the last of it, “all of ‘em.”

While Sam tried to figure out what you even say back to that, Dean lit up.

“Oh yeah! Hey, I found'ja somethin’!”

He clicked away whatever movie was playing and pulled up some music, settling back in his chair again to watch Sam expectantly.

He frowned as Sam didn’t react.

“Um, your headphones, Dean.” 

“Oh. Crap. Yeah.” Dean pulled his headphone cord from his laptop.

 _“—ere ain't no man, can save me,_  
_There ain't no man can enslave me,_  
_Ain't no man or men that can change the shape my soul is in,_  
_There ain't nobody here,_  
_Who can cause me pain or raise my fear,_  
_'Cause I’ve got only lo-o-ove to share,  
_ _If you're lookin' for truth I'm proof you'll find it there,”_

“Huh. This is nice,” Sam said, honestly surprised. “Who is it?”

“The Avett Brothers,” Dean proclaimed. “Y’know how Cas’s inta this folk-y kinda stuff—

Sam didn't, but he let Dean go on.

“—well he’s gone an’ ‘fected my music with it! So this popped up an’ I thought you’d like it.”

 _"You got to serve somethin', ain't that right,_  
_I know it gets dark but there's always a light,_  
_You're gonna have to buy in to get into the club,_  
_Trade your worries,_  
_You gotta show up, if you wanna be seen,_  
_If you matters to you, ma, it matters to me,_  
_I'm gonna fall hard, yeah I know I am,_  
_When the clowns crack up I laugh with them,_

_There ain't no man, can save me,  
_There ain't no man can enslave me,_..."_

Sam chuffed. "Yeah, I do.” He returned Dean’s lopsided smile, “Thanks, Dean.”

“Ain't nobody can fuck wi’ you, Sammy,” Dean smiled, looking off into the distance again. “Nobody...”

He shot upright and cuffed him, “‘Cept me, right!”

 _“...You say you look funny, I say you're a star,_  
_I say you're whatever you think you are…”_

Sam chuffed as he rubbed his arm. “Yeah, Dean. No one but you.”

“S’m’job!” he said, and stretched high with a yawn. He stood, headphones still hanging from around his neck. “Think m’gonna head to bed, Sammy, gonna try to sleep.” He absently scratched at his arm. “Don’ stay up too late now, y’hear?”

Sam wondered if Bris had had enough time with Cas that Dean passing through wouldn’t be a problem. He shrugged it off, though, Dean wouldn’t understand what they were saying anyway. “Yeah, of course, Dean.”

Dean carefully made his way up the stairs out of the map room.

At the doorway, though, he stopped and turned back. “Hey, Sammy?”

“Yeah, Dean?”

“Um… 'S Cas happy?”

“I—” Sam ticked back at the unexpected question. “Yeah, I guess so. He’s been a little weird lately, but Bris said—” He stopped himself. “But, yeah, I think he’s happy, yeah.”

“Good,” Dean nodded as he turned back, “Good.”

Dean headed off for his room, the song playing out on the laptop he left behind, leaving a confused and concerned Sam in his wake.

 _"...You got to go somewhere, ain't that true,_  
_Not a whole lot of time for me or you,_  
_Got a whole lot of reasons to be mad, let's not pick one,_  
_I live in a room at the top of the stairs,_  
_Got my windows wide open and nobody cares,_  
_And I got no choice but to get right up, when the sun comes through,_

 _There ain't no man that can save me,_  
_There ain't no man that can enslave me,_  
_There ain't no man or men that can change the shape my soul is in,_  
_There ain't nobody here,_  
_Who can cause me pain or raise my fear, 'cause I got only love to share,_  
_If you're lookin' for truth I'm proof you'll find it there,_  
_If you're lookin' for truth I'm proof you'll find it there,_  
_If you're lookin' for truth I'm proof, you'll fi-i-i-ind i-it."_


	15. Chapter 15

The next morning, Sam was doing his typical quick scan of the headlines when a notification popped up. One of the searches he had set while looking for Gabriel had finally found something, and when Sam looked into it further, he decided he needed to call a meeting.

He somehow managed to round everyone up and got them all around a table in the library, Sam standing at the head with his laptop.

“What do you want, Sam?” Dean asked over his coffee, a bit irritable this morning. “Better be good for this fuckin’ early.”

“It’s like, nine o’clock, calm down,” Sam huffed. He addressed the table where Cas, Bris, Gabriel, and Direl also faced him, and pointed at his screen. “So get this: there are some insane omens coming out of Texas.”

“Like what?” Direl asked.

“All sorts of things. Omens for angels, omens for demons, even a huge power outage like with Jack. But unless another nephilim is being born…”

He and Dean turned to Cas.

 _“Hm?”_ Cas sat up straighter. “Oh, no, definitely not. There’s been nothing over the radio,” he tossed a hand near his head.

“...then I think it has to be the Other Michael.”

It didn’t escape his notice how Gabriel flinched.

“Or somethin’ else. It could be somethin’ with terrible timin’,” Bris offered.

“Nah. We only ever get one big thing at a time,” Dean said over his mug.

“Now hold on, hold on,” Gabriel said with a too-wide smile. “This is some high-level stuff, are you sure we can trust a _novice_ like this one with it?” he nudged Bris.

"Oh- _dún é,_ ye horse’s ass!” she chuckled, shoving him back with a smile of her own.

“Sam trusts Bris completely, and has for a long time,” Cas answered. “In fact, he told her I was an angel not long after we met her.” He turned to Bris, “Unless you knew all along?”

“Wha—? Oh. No,” she blinked, caught off guard. “Just— thought you was extra blue.”

Sam furrowed his brow, “What are you talking about, Ca…” Then his eyes widened and he nodded slowly. _“Oh._ Yes. Yes I did do that. …Because I trust her.”

Cas nodded and settled back into his seat. Gabriel rolled his eyes at him.

Sam coughed. “So _anyway,”_ he tried to get them back on track, “since it’s probably that, and we don’t know how much time we have, I think we’re going to need to kick our preparations into high gear.”

“What preparations?” Dean asked.

“The stuff we’ve been doing for months now? Alerting the network, gathering supplies, practicing— ...things.”

Dean’s eyebrow shot up, “The network?”

Sam visibly relaxed. “Yeah. The hunters we know, the Men of Letters out east— I’ve been working on it for a while now.”

“Huh,” Dean grunted, and leaned over his mug on the table.

“We should alert Heaven as well,” Cas said across the table to Gabriel. “They may be able to help.”

Gabriel started, and his discomfort returned. “Well, I— um—”

“You sure that’s a good idea, Cas?” Sam asked. “They’re not really your biggest fans right now.”

*When have they ever been?* Dean grumbled.

Cas didn’t even flinch at that. “They’ve listened when the Earth was in danger before. Perhaps they will again.”

“Maybe. You and Gabriel can figure that out,” Sam said, “In the meantime, we’ll do what we can on our end.”

With that, everyone stood from the table and headed their separate ways.

As the others left, Bris took Sam off to the side, pulling him down so she could whisper in his ear, *Now here _I_ thought ye told me he were an angel ‘cause ye wanted get laid.*

Sam chuffed and kissed her cheek, *Yeah, no, it was definitely that.*

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

The next days were very full for Cas.

First, of course, he tried to convince Gabriel that they should seek Heaven’s aid, but Gabriel seemed... less than enthusiastic.

“Cassy…” he rubbed at the back of his neck, holding his wings tight to his body, “I haven’t been in Heaven for…”

“Eons.”

“Right… I… just don’t think they’ll be too happy to see me, you know?”

“Of course they’ll be happy, they’ll rejoice,” Cas assured him, “You’re our elder brother, we’ve awaited your return for as long as you’ve been gone.”

“Right. Yeah. Well, you know… maybe… I think I just need a few days. Just to, um, get myself better prepared for this.”

Cas knew they needed to go soon, but it seemed like a reasonable request, and he wasn’t exactly excited to go either, so he patiently waited.

Though of course, he may have had his own, more selfish reasons to stall, another pressing concern on his mind.

That concern— of course— being Dean. As always.

Last night after everyone else had gone to bed, and upon finding that Dean wasn’t actually asleep yet, Cas had settled himself into a seat in the library. A lot had happened that day, so he'd taken his time to go through it all again, and he’d realized that he had made a slight misstep.

As obvious as it seemed to Bris, and as much as Cas’s research _suggested_ it, Cas didn’t actually _know_ how Dean felt. And Cas shouldn’t assume, he should allow Dean to speak for himself.

Dean still did need to know how Cas felt, this realization simply tempered his panicked urgency, and strengthened his resolve to go through with it.

Besides, he absolutely did not want to be eaten by a cat, nor by Lucifer. And while he had his doubts in Bris’s ability to actually carry out that threat, Cas had a strong suspicion that she might try nonetheless.

Now Cas may not have known what came after the Big Kiss, but with a bit of additional research he quickly learned what came before. After the requisite awkward posturing and endearing interactions, there was always the Reveal, that big moment when one or both parties confessed their feelings, and with everything Cas had read and seen, he knew that the size of the Reveal was meant to correspond to the intensity of the feelings. And Cas’s feelings were… intense.

He knew he had to get this right. He only had one shot at this. Dean was far better versed in these matters than he was, and would surely notice if Cas slipped up.

So Cas attacked this like he would any mission: with a plan.

There were plenty of avenues he could take. There was the popular option of a dramatic show of affection though grand gestures, but Cas struck that idea down quickly. Dean wasn’t one to enjoy large spectacles of attention, excepting those rare occasions that he wanted to show off.

There was also the presentation of a gift, but Cas had already done that, and it hadn’t exactly gone very well.

Sometimes it happened by accident, but that definitely wasn’t what Cas wanted.

No, what ended up seeming like the best course for Cas, was the option of crafting a speech.

But even this option came with pitfalls to avoid. There was the chance that he could be perceived as “too forward,” or worse yet, misunderstood entirely. With years of miscommunication echoing in his mind, Cas knew he would need to be very clear with Dean, more so than ever before, and yet at the same time— somehow— not too clear.

Because there was no standard form this speech should take. It seemed that each couple that utilized this method crafted an extremely personalized message for their intended, just specific enough to get the message across, but still vague enough to allow the other party the chance to back out graciously, and yet grandiose enough to please and impress them.

And unfortunately, if there was something that Cas wasn’t, it was a writer.

He was a strategian, a warrior, not an artist or a poet. As he sat on his own, trying to figure out exactly what he would say to Dean, he found himself coming up at a loss. He wished he could just say it, just tell Dean straightforward and blatantly, but that never happened to good effect in his research. One or both parties always ended up terribly embarrassed, or sometimes scared to the point of running away, prolonging everyone’s suffering. So as much as Cas wanted to make things simple, he knew that he couldn’t. This was something he needed to put thought into, something he had to get just right…

Now if only he could find the right things to say.

Although, now that he thought about it, sometimes a character would borrow a piece of existing writing to aid them, excerpts of poetry or literature that were significant to both parties. But Dean didn’t read poetry, he read works of Contemporary Literature, and unfortunately when Cas was able to sneak a look at some of the books Dean kept in his room, he quickly realized those works didn’t have the right content to help him.

It wasn’t until the next day, when Dean happened to walk by him with his little speaker swinging off his hip, that Cas realized what he’d been missing.

 _“...There’s a sign on the wall,  
_ _But she wants to be sure,  
_ _'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings,  
_ _In a tree by the brook,  
_ _There’s a songbird who sings,  
_ _Sometimes all of our thoughts are misleading…”_

Cas stared after Dean for a long time after he'd passed through the room.

Because perhaps Dean didn’t read poetry...

 

But he certainly listened to it.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

The next time Rowena came to the bunker, she found herself with an audience.

“Well, hello, darlin’. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“‘Lo,” Bris said tentatively.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company today?”

“We, um, we need to talk,” Sam answered. “About what we’re doing here.”

Rowena shot him an unexpectedly sour look, then turned back to Bris expectantly.

“Thought I’d watch,” she said, eyeing Rowena. “See what you’re on about every day in here. Make sure Sam’s doin’ alright.”

Rowena nodded, giving Bris a quick look up and down.

Apparently satisfied, she brightened with a smile, “Well that’s delightful, love! Why don’t you take a seat over there and I’ll just get started with Samuel, here.”

Bris took up a seat on one of the benches while Rowena turned back to Sam, “Now I know I said we’d do some more work on teleporting today, but I’ve changed my mind. Think we’ll work on some hexes.”

“Hexes?” Sam asked. Bris perked up in her seat. “I know how to make hex bags, I can just look up—”

“Yes, dear, but I mean _hexes._ Curses, things you can send from a distance.”

“Oh. Sure, that sounds useful,” Sam said. Bris was nodding, but caught herself and stopped.

The corner of Rowena’s lips rose. She kept her eyes on Sam. “Now this first one will be easy, even a novice could pick it up.”

“Then why am I—?”

“Who’s teachin’ who, boy? Shut your flapper and raise your hands at that weight across the floor there.”

“Geez, okay,” Sam faced his target across the gym and raised his hands, “Alright, what’s the spell?”

_“Stad.”_

Bris snapped to Rowena.

Sam frowned, “That’s it? ‘Stop’? I mean, I guess we haven’t done that much Celtic spellwork yet—”

“Be quiet now and concentrate. I want that dumbell cowerin’ at your fury, ya understand?”

“Okay!” Sam flashed an apprehensive look at her. He faced his little target and said, _“Stad!”_

The dumbell tumbled across the floor, stopping against the wall. Bris’s eyes flew wide at the sight.

“Now that would be more effective against a target what was actively comin’ after you, but I think you get the idea.”

“I could have done that without the spell,” Sam said, turning back to her with a frown. “Why do I need—”

 _“The next thing_ I’m gonna show ya,” Rowena cut him off, “is a more defensive move. I get the feelin’ that attackin’ is more your style, but I assure you this is just as important.”

“I don’t mind defen—”

“Now, Samuel, I want you to run at me, here. Because I’m gonna throw a spell out, and _you,”_ she raised her hand at him, “are gonna break it right off.”

Bris inhaled softly.

“This is another simple one, though it takes more concentration and you need to know the spell you’re tryin’ to break. I’m gonna use a Haitian spell, Sam, keep that in mind. Your spell is _ego demissis,_ and you’re aimin’ to get up under the attackin' power, you understand, Sam?”

He nodded, mouthing the words a few times as he took up his position.

“Go.”

He launched himself at her.

_“Mete!”_

Sam’s foot stuck to the ground, but he was quick. He raised a hand _“Ego demissis!”_ and was freed without breaking his stride. Rowena blinked out and reappeared a few feet off to the side, allowing Sam to sail right past her.

“That was excellent, Sam, you’re gettin’ faster.”

“Oh. Thank you.” He smiled at the unexpected praise as he shook his hair from his face.

“So… would you like to learn more?”

“What? Of course I—”

Rowena held up her hand at him.

And turned to Bris.

“Wha’, me?” she drew back.  _“I_ can’t do magic.”

 _“Pah,_ anyone can do magic, even these lugs’ve been doin’ magic on occasion for years,” she jerked her thumb over her shoulder at Sam.

Sam took a step forward, “Now hey, wait a minute, Rowena—”

She waved a hand and Sam’s lips were sealed. “I’m not speakin’ to you.”

Bris looked concernedly from Sam to Rowena. “A spell a’ necessity every once in a while is one thing, but I can’t do what you two are doin’.”

“‘Course ye can. Anyone can pick up magic.”

“Then what was all that talk about Sam’s ‘natural talent’ back when—”

“Well yes, Sam and I do have an inclination to it, but that just means you’ll have to work twice as hard to get to the same place he is— a feelin’ I’m sure you’re used to by now, lass.”

Bris met her gaze with a surprised understanding.

But her eyes darted away. “I… I couldn’t. Magic like that… tha’s for— for _witches…”_

Rowena looked down her nose at her, one slender eyebrow raised, “You callin’ me a witch like it’s a _bad_ thing?”

Bris’s eyes flashed wide.

“You're a selkie of age, don't you remember a time when magic was a common thing?”

“I ain’t _that_ old,” Bris grumbled.

Rowena hummed in understanding. “Magic used to be as common as any profession. _Every_ village had its bakers, its tailors, its counter-hex makers... Women across Europe used it to heal their families, to curse their enemies, to get a leg up in a world that wasn’t designed for them.” Rowena’s face darkened. “But apparently that couldn’t be had, and so the witch hunts began. Women, and practicin’ men, too, were rounded up, tortured, and slaughtered for darin’ to step outside their _place_ in the world.”

Bris shook her head, “That’s not how I heard about the witch hunts. I were taught they were heretics. Blasphemers.”

“A history told by old men in towers has no place for us, for _little women_ just tryin’ to make our way through the world.”

Bris’s brows jumped as her eyes widened again.

“When I was born the Great Witch Hunts were about a hundred years behind me, but there were still those who held on, who kept the grimoires and the knowledge alive. And when I needed it, they were there, and I took what I needed to get by. But you won’t have to steal. You won’t have to _beg_ or _grovel._ I’ve been through this already and I’m here to help you, lass. And all I ask for in return is for your help when the time comes.”

Sam jumped forward with a muffled shout.

“Still not talkin’ to you, boy.” Rowena waved a hand to push Sam back to sit on a weightlifting bench.

Bris shared a glance with him, seeing the fear on his face. “This is that fight you was talkin’ about before,” she said.

“Aye, it is.”

Bris looked over at the dumbbell against the wall. But she sighed. “I… I can’t.”

“I told ya, you _can—”_

“Then I won’t!”

Rowena drew back, “Why on earth not?”

“‘Cause I— ‘cause we—" She dropped her eyes to the floor. "‘Cause selkies don’t do magic like that.”

“And who told you that?”

“My—” Bris cringed with realization, “My _mother,”_ she spat.

Rowena stepped closer to her, taking careful appraisal of her. “Ah, yes,” she said, “I can see it there across your face. Your mother taught you to put everyone first before yourself, told you that your place in the world was behind everyone else, and when you protested she told you to get used to it right fast, didn’t she? ‘Because that's just the way the world is,’ she’d said. But you hated it. You chafed against it. And just look where you are now, with a man what weren’t meant for you, talkin’ to a proper witch inside a shell of a monument to the arrogance of Men. Your mother taught you that magic wasn’t for you. Magic was for _witches._ For disagreeable women who didn’t know their _place._ Well I’ll tell you somethin’, that may have been the one thing she was right about. Magic is power. Magic is a tool in your toolbox to get you where you want to be. You’re no wallflower, girl, you never were. So come with me, let me raise you up, and help me take down the Devil himself.”

Sam hopped up with another muffled shout, but Rowena pushed him right back down on his bench, “I _will_ send you outta here, boy—”

“Would you cut that!” Bris stood from her own bench.

Rowena turned to her, bemused, “What? This isn't his business.”

“I’m right certain it is!”

“This isn't his decision to—"

“A’course it ain’t! But my business is his business, an’ not ‘cause he makes it so but ‘cause I do!”

Sam gave a grunt of affirmation. Rowena snapped to him with a glower and swiped her hand through the air. Sam scrabbled at his throat, his voice now completely gone.

“That’s it!” Bris whipped her knife from her belt and brandished it at Rowena, “You set him right, ye ruddy bitch!”

Rowena scoffed. “Or what? You’ll stick me with that toothpick?”

“Or we’re leggin’ it right now, an’ we certainly won’t be comin’ back.”

Sam gave a sharp nod.

Rowena stared Bris down, perhaps waiting for her to falter in a bluff. But Bris stood firm, returning the challenge unblinkingly.

A slender brow slowly raised in quiet appreciation. “Alright, lass,” Rowena waved a hand and released Sam, “perhaps I got a bit worked up there. You’re right. He ain’t the enemy. Lucifer is.”

Bris watched as Sam rubbed his jaw and gave a quick grunt to test that his voice had returned. He stood from the bench, and shared another look with her.

They both turned abruptly for the gymnasium door.

Rowena gaped after them, “Where in the hell do you think you’re goin’? I set him right!”

Bris turned back once Sam was through to the hall. “Get _fucked,_ ye bloody wagon. Ain’t no one gonna bash my man around like a tin can an’ think she’s gonna get nothin’ from me. _Imeacht gan teacht ort, agus féadfaidh an diabhal an ceann a ghearradh uait agus obair lae do mhuineál a dhéanamh!”_

Rowena jerked back as if struck, her jaw dropping with an affronted squeak. She attempted to say something in return, utterly failed, and vanished with a huff.

Sam looked to Bris with eyes full of pride. “That last bit there," he said, "I didn’t quite catch all of that.”

She stood tall as she returned her knife to its sheath. “May ye leave without returnin’,” she translated with a grin, “an’ the devil cut yer head off to make a day’s work a’ yer neck.”

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Cas needed a song.

But not just any song,

Cas needed the perfect song.

It shouldn’t have been hard to find.

There were many songs.

There were many songs about love.

There were many songs about confessing one’s love.

About unrequited love,

About love that almost was,

And yet,

Here Cas was. Still needing a song.

Because none of them,

None of them,

Were right.

They came close, goodness knows they came so close. But none of them had the right words. Or the words were too vague. Or they were too blatant. Or Cas just didn’t like them. Or Cas thought Dean wouldn’t like them— There were just too many variables that all had to line up and no matter how many songs he played or searches he tried, _none_ of them were right.

Cas knew he needed to act soon. The omens had been worsening. Any day now something was going to snap and when it did they would need to move out to meet it, if not before, and that meant they would all be swept up in yet another threat upon the world with no time to talk.

So in a move of desperation, he amended his plan.

In many of the stories Cas had studied, the characters waited until just the right moment appeared before them, or stumbled into the right moment when the tension was highest in their plot arcs. Initially Cas had rejected this option outright, as it left far too much to chance for his liking, but he was running out of time, running out of ideas, and so, in an attempt to improve his odds, he began to spend more time around Dean. Well specifically, he began to spend more time around that little speaker. Dean played music on it constantly, liking songs and skipping others, tuning it to what suited him best. So Cas took the gamble, praying to no one in particular that the right song would come, and that when it did he would know, and that the small speech he had prepared would fit with it.

Fortunately for Cas, Dean didn’t seem to mind his increased presence at all. In fact, even as those signs Cas had previously read as discomfort persisted, Dean almost seemed to enjoy it.

Since the incident with the burgers Dean’s entire mood had shifted, and Cas was glad to see it. Dean wasn’t quite back to his old self, but he was… better. It gave Cas a little hope that the others were right after all, and Dean was going to pull through this troubling time.

Sitting at the library table with Dean now, Cas perked up, the current song having caught his attention. It had started slow, but it picked up in intensity, and Cas noted that Dean was tapping his foot to it as he scrolled through something on his computer.

 _“Roll away your stone, I’ll roll away mine,_  
_Together we can see what we will find,_  
_Don't leave me alone at this time,_ _  
For I’m afraid of what I will discover insi—”_

Dean abruptly switched the song.

Cas frowned at him, “Why did you skip that one?”

Dean jumped, perhaps not expecting Cas to question it. “It was, um… gettin’ kinda sad.”

Cas nodded. That certainly disqualified it. He returned to his careful patience.

 

———

 

The next song that caught Cas’s attention was far more positive.

 _“Oh my love, let me be your fire!_  
_We’re a thousand miles up and about to get higher,_  
_Feel my heart beatin’ out my chest,_ _  
You’re the only prayer I need to make me feel blessed,_

_Singin’: oh, oh, o-oh  
Oh, oh, o-oh—” _

From his seat in one of the reading chairs in the library, Dean grimaced and picked up his phone on the table to skip the song.

Cas slumped over his book. “Why did you skip that one?”

Dean winced. “I just, um… it was too… you know, happy n’ shit.” He buried his face in his own book, though it didn’t hide the flush rising on his neck.

Cas frowned with a squint, but resigned himself to continue waiting.

 

———

 

They were in the kitchen, picking up some beers to nurse through a movie.

_“I’m in love with an angel—”_

Dean scrambled for his phone so fast he almost dropped it.

Cas’s heart plummeted. “Why did you skip that one?”

“I, ah— It just—” he fumbled. “Fuck, Cas, you know I can’t stand that stupid alt-y-grunge-y crap!” He shoved a beer into Cas’s hands and hurried past him.

Cas squinted after his receding back. That wasn’t true at all. Dean enjoyed both alternative _and_ grunge.

 

———

 

 _“...Can you hear me callin’,_  
_Out your name?_  
_You know that I’m fallin’_  
_And I don’t know what to say,_  
_I’ll speak a little louder,_  
_I’ll even shout,_  
_You know that I’m proud_ _  
And I can’t get the words out—”_

Dean skipped the song.

Cas looked at him expectantly.

“Not really feelin’ Fleetwood Mac right now,” he grumbled.

Cas held in a sigh.

 

———

 

That night found them laying outside again, looking up at the starry sky.

Cas almost missed the beginning of the next possible contender. A slow and easy song, with a comforting, quiet guitar leading into a smooth, imploring singer.

 _“Would you be the wind... to blow me home?_  
_Would you be a dream... on the wings of a poem?_  
_And if we were walkin’ through a crowd,_ _  
Well you know I'd be proud,_

 _If you’d call my name out loud,_  
_If you’d call my name out loud,_  
_Do you suppose that I would come runnin’?  
Do you suppose I'd come at all?_

_I suppose I would…”_

Cas’s heart raced with excitement. He eagerly awaited the next verse—

Dean sighed and pulled his phone out to skip the song.

Cas tilted his head to face him, absolutely incredulous. That song had been _perfect._ “What was wrong with that one?”

Dean didn’t answer for a while, and when he did, he didn’t turn toward Cas.

“‘S jus’ remindin’ me… a’ the shit I can’t...” Dean slurred. He squeezed his eyes tight and turned up the volume of the replacement song. “Nevermind, Cas. Ain’t your shit t’ worry ‘bout.”

Cas settled back into the grass, reluctantly admitting defeat. If that song upset Dean so, it definitely wasn’t the right one. He allowed himself a sigh to calm his discontented mind.

The right song would come, he told himself.

He was at the mercy of that speaker, and he hated it,

But the right one would come.

He just had to have Faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jumping back to Sam and Bris: Just so we’re clear, the intent behind “May ye leave without returnin’, and the devil cut yer head off to make a day’s work a’ yer neck,” can be further translated to: “I hope you die, and that the devil takes a shit down your severed neck.”
> 
> \---
> 
>  _dún é_ = A particularly rude or crass way to say "Shut it!" or "Shut up!"


	16. Chapter 16

Rowena entered the throne room, ready to initiate her plan. Her loyal followers were prepared, backup was in place if necessary, and all that was left to do was to get on with it.

This was for Fergus’s own good, she told herself.

Certainly nothing to do with the events of that morning on Earth.

She expected to find her son sulking on the throne with his head in his hand, as had become his favorite position outside of a bar as of late.

She instead found him standing in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, silently facing that chair.

Standing tall, she readied herself for an argument.

“Fergus, I need to speak with you.”

But Crowley didn’t turn to her. He just kept staring at the throne.

“I never wanted this, you know.”

“Yes, but I—” Rowena stopped, blinking at him. “Ah, what now? Of course you did.”

“No, Mother. I did this for him. All of it.” He shook his drooping head, “I tried to force myself into something I’m not, something I despise with every whisp of my being, all for him.”

Rowena could only blink at his back. She had thought she was going to have to pull his teeth to get to this point.

“He isn’t even here," Crowley continued, "but he’s still got the reins in my head. I don’t even know what I’m holding onto at this point, I don’t even know what I’m doing. All I know for sure— all I can figure from all of this— is that I just want it to be done.”

He turned his back on the throne.

“So I’m done.”

Rowena watched her son carefully. Perhaps it was just the lack of furniture flying at each other, but something felt... off.

He looked to Rowena. “You want a shot at it?” he said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

“I— What?” That was certainly not how she'd expected _that_ to go, either.

“You want a shot at it,” he repeated. “You’re the closest thing I could have to an heir, and you’re already doing all the work, anyway.”

That ‘off’ feeling grew. Something was building in her, something familiar and yet...

“My boy, are you sure? You worked so hard for this.”

“I did, yes,” he said, nodding around the room, “but sometimes a dream is better in your head than in practice. Gotta know when to let go for your own good.”

The feeling straining from deep in her heart burst, and Rowena was struck by a pain she recognized immediately. This pain had found her when she’d been told her son was dead in the first place, it had found her again when he’d insisted they try to retake Hell, and it found her now as her son suffered in the fallout of what she should have known would happen. This was guilt, heavy and plain. The guilt of a mother who hadn’t done enough for her child.

“Oh, _Fergus,”_ she closed the distance to her son, enveloping him in a hug, “my darlin’ lad, I’m— I’m so sorry.”

Crowley stood stiff as a board and most certainly did not return the embrace. “Why are you sorry?” he asked flatly, brows crossed.

“‘Cause I shoulda _stopped_ ya! I _knew_ that Winchester was awful for you and I helped you along with this anyway!” She pulled back and pressed his face between her palms, “I thought this was what you wanted! You seemed so unhappy in our travels and… Oh, I thought this would help! And of course, if I stood to benefit, well, who was I to say no, but— But yes, Fergus. This was what I wanted to speak with you about in the first place, I can see plain as day that you’re sufferin’ down here. Let me take this burden from you. You deserve so much better, I’m so sorry.”

He stared at her, wide-eyed and incredulous. “You’re sherioush. You achually mean it,” he said through his smushed cheeks.

“But of _course_ I do, boy! I’d do anythin’ for you, I’m your mother!”

Crowley pulled back a bit to look her up and down, “Are you feeling alright?”

 _“Ach!”_ She dropped her hands from his face to land them on her hips. “‘Course, I am! What, I can’t care for the well-bein’ of my own son?”

“Yeah, no, not usually, no.”

“Wha—! Brought yer ungreatful keester back from beyond now didn’t I?”

“Well—“

“D’ja ever stop to think _why,_ Fergus?”

“I—“ he paused and tipped his head, “Well, no.”

Rowena sighed. “Well you’ll have plenty of time to mull it over once we’ve got this mess sorted out. Come on, now, let’s go talk to the spellcasters.”

She took her son with an arm around his shoulders, and guided him out of the throne room.

 

Just as they were about to pass through the door, though, a tremor shook the fabric of their Realm.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

The rest of the day was bright and joyful for Sam, his heart floating light in his chest. After Rowena left, he and Bris had spent the whole day just chatting together. It started off as just another lesson in Gaeilge, but quickly became a discussion on the rapidly progressing situation between Dean and Cas, then a lamentation on all the things that should have tipped Sam off about it sooner, and then just a long session of telling stories about the past, the things that happened in between those times the world seemed intent on throwing itself off a cliff, and the day passed them by in a happy calm.

Now that Bris knew about what he and Rowena were doing— well, _had_ been doing— but now that she knew, and had explained in turn what was happening with her and Dean’s heart, there were no secrets left between them.

And god, everything was just so fucking great.

Gabriel was back, Direl was speaking to people again— yes, Ketch was still haunting the bunker— but everything else was turning up in Sam’s favor. Even Dean was almost pleasant company for the hot minute he was in the kitchen with them to get himself some toast for dinner.

And now he and Bris were washing the dishes from the amazing meal they had made for themselves, Sam washing and Bris drying—

_“Lord above, Dean-o were right, yer crap at this!”_

—Bris washing and Sam drying, softly leaning into each other in a comfortable quiet.

A little tension crept into Bris’s shoulders. Sam looked over and knocked his hip gently into hers, “Hey, what’s up?”

She tipped her head with a small shrug. “I were just thinkin’...” she looked up at him, “are you… alright that I went an’ sent that ruddy bitch off?”

Sam chuffed through a wide smile, “Am I ever.”

Her eyebrows drew together over a mirroring smile, “Yeah?”

 _“Hell_ yeah. God, watching you tell Rowena off like that… No wonder you’re always giving me those giddy looks.”

“M’not _‘giddy’!”_ she protested through her smile. “I jus’ know those lessons were important to ye, an’ now I’ve gone an’ run off yer teacher.”

“Hey, I left with you.” Sam put an arm around her waist and shrugged. “I’ll just… keep studying on my own. It’ll be just like being back in school again, I’ve totally got this.”

 _“You_ _are_ _an excellent student,”_ she teased him in Gaeilge, and brought him down with a finger under his chin for a quick little kiss. They easily returned to their comfortable quiet, the only sound in the kitchen once again the clatter of dishes and the shifting of water.

Then somewhere along the way, Bris began humming. It was quiet, slipping under her breath at times and not really keeping to a tempo, but to Sam it was nothing short of beautiful. He could hear her smile beneath it, and it gave him another one of his own.

It was a while before he recognized what she was humming, but when he did it just made him smile that much wider. He set his towel on the counter and took out his phone to pull up _“Hold My Heart.”_

Bris huffed through her nose and looked up at him with a smirk, “What now, my singin’ weren’t good enough fer you?”

“'Course it was.” He stepped back from the counter and offered his hand. “Just thought you might like to dance.”

Her smirk became a grin and she took his hand. “With you? Always, love.”

He brought her close, and they swayed together with that lovely duet of violin and singer once again. But they only managed to get through a few verses in peace before Gabriel wandered through the kitchen.

“Got room for a third wheel in this love boat?” he teased as he headed straight for the fridge.

Sam didn’t even bother opening his eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitched up. “Get what you came for and and fuck off, Gabe.”

“Aw, c’mon, Samagram, you’re no fun,” he pouted as he pulled out fixings for a sandwich.

“Shove off, ye ludder, he’s mine,” Bris smiled as she held Sam tighter.

“Ho boy, _no,”_ Gabriel strained as he put together his sandwich, the ingredients seeming to duplicate on their own as he built it higher and higher. “I’d never _dream_ of coming between a bonded selkie and her man.” He turned back to them as he spread some spicy mustard on a slice of bread, “Congrats on that, by the way.”

Sam and Bris opened their eyes and shared a look. “Congrats on what?” Sam asked.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at them. “Your bond? It wasn’t there when I left but now you two are all sorts of mixed up in each other. Meant to say something when the topic came up the other day, but you left in a bit of a hurry,” he winked at them.

“No, we’re not—” Bris gestured between them, “I ain’t given Sam my coat.”

“You didn’t? _Ahh,_ so you took the long way.”

“What?”

“Your souls are all sorts of meshed,” Gabriel waved his knife vaguely.

Sam tipped his head, “Our souls...?”

Bris’s eyes narrowed, “Yer not makin’ any sense, Gabe. You said there was no such thing as soulmates.”

“Uh, _no,_ I said there's no one single, perfect, destined someone for everyone out there.” Gabriel topped off his foot-tall sandwich and vanished the apparently-untouched ingredients. “But soulmates, the love of your life, your bosom buddy, whatever you want to call it, that's very real, and you two have definitely found it.” He turned from his sandwich to face Bris, “Look, I get how Samster didn’t already know, but you can _see_ his soul.”

“I can see his _heart—”_

“Yeah. His soul.”

The confused, condescending look slowly fell off of Bris’s face.

She turned to Sam, eyes dropping to his chest as her lips parted.

Gabriel drew a breath, _“Aaaalright,_ I can see you’re gonna need a minute,” he snatched up his plate, “I’m just gonna leave while you process that. Congrats again, love birds!” He shot them a finger gun and disappeared.

Bris hesitantly raised a hand, laying it out over Sams chest. Her eyes darted across him, as if trying to take in everything she could see there all at once.

Sam looked down at her, still holding her from their interrupted dance, the open awe on her face drawing another smile to his lips.

[ And Sam’s phone, undaunted by the revelations at hand, continued on. ](https://open.spotify.com/track/34gCuhDGsG4bRPIf9bb02f?si=VctZzBFqR56sYIjkHJCY0Q)

“Is it really so different from when you thought it was a ‘heart’?” he asked softly.

“I... I s’pose not…” Her thumb rubbed a gentle line in his shirt. “But… yeah... It is…”

He brought a hand up to her cheek to wipe away a tear. Her gaze never wavered, even as she leaned into his caressing palm.

“This… This is _you.”_ She pressed harder on the hand against his chest. “This isn’t jus’ what yer… _feelin’_ or… what yer thinkin’... This is _you,_ Sam…” She shook her head, leaning further into his hand as new tears reached his fingers. “This is _you…"_

Sam leaned down to kiss her forehead, rubbing his thumb across her cheek.

“It’s…” Bris still couldn’t take her eyes away, “It’s beautiful.”

Sam huffed and ducked his head. “Yeah, sure.”

She snapped up to him so fast he had to meet her again, indignant fury and concern creasing her face. “Sam— Why don’t you believe that?”

He opened his mouth, but had to think about his answer.

“Nothing that’s ever looked inside me— nothing has ever given me a— _good_ response. ‘Duct tape and safety pins’ was a memorable one. Monster. Abomination... ” He shut his eyes against the sympathy on her face. “Bris, I’ve been torn apart, thrown back together— I don’t even know if I’ve got all my pieces anymore. I’m… I’m broken, Bris, I’m—”

 _*Shh-shh-shh,_ Sam…* She stopped his eminent spiral with a finger pressed to his lips. “Have you already forgotten what that amulet told you? ‘Cause I remember every word.” She pulled him down for a kiss, *Powerful. Worthy. An’ _whole,*_ she whispered against his lips. “An’ I been tellin’ you that since the night I metcha.”

Sam chuffed and tucked his head into her shoulder.

Bris pulled back to meet his eyes, “Yer beautiful, Sam. You’re a gorgeous thing, with a gorgeous hea— a gorgeous soul. You got wounds jus’ like anyone else, more than yer fair share, but you hold ‘em with a strength an’ a grace that I ain’t seen in many folks at all.” She smiled wide at him. “Why’d’ya think I fell for a man like you in the first place?”

Sam felt a heat creeping up his neck and a lopsided smile, “Well... I mean...”

 _"Tá mo chroí istigh ionat,"_ she said to him. "Think it always has been. Prob'ly always will be."

"Bris..." he said on a breath, and leaned down to kiss her once more—

 _“You know she played the fiddle in an Irish band! _ _  
_ _But she fell in love with an English man…”_

They jumped apart, then couldn’t help but laugh. Sam spun Bris in a quick twirl through her giggles and pulled her close to take up their dance again.

“You know,” he said to her with a knowing smile, “this song is almost perfect.”

“Oh yeah?” she tipped up her chin, “What's wrong with it?”

Sam shrugged one shoulder. “I'm not English.”

She stared at him for a moment, her mouth slightly ajar.

“Yer name is _Winchester.”_

“Yeah? Like the gun.”

She kept staring.

 _“Oh,_ like the _town.”_

Bris had to bite her lip against a laugh, “Lord above, Sam, Cas went an’ _told_ ye you was Anglican!”

“Oh yeah, he did.” Sam grimaced. “Never did get to talk with him about that.”

“Gots a feelin’ he’d still love to gab on about it wit’cha.”

“Yeah, me too. Think I’ll ask him after this.”

They bopped around the kitchen for a minute longer before Bris pulled back and raised an eyebrow at him. “Oi, ah, what's yer mother's maiden name?”

 _“Hm?_ Oh, it's Campbell.”

She tucked her lips in, and dropped her head against his chest as her shoulders began to shake.

“What?” he smiled down at her, “What!”

“Nothin’!” she strained high with a smile. “Nothin’ at all. Love ye, darlin’, love ye to bits.”

 _“...My pretty little Galway girl,_ _  
_ _My, my, my, my, my, my, my Galway girl…”_

“Ohh. Anyway. Speakin’ a’ that,” Bris jerked her head at the phone on the counter, “you know I ain’t from Galway, right?”

“Oh, well, _yeah…”_ his eyes darted sheepishly, “of course.”

Bris watched him for a moment, apparently waiting for something.

Sam shrank an inch. “Where, um, where are you from then?”

She smiled and just shrugged at him. “The sea,” she answered easily.

“Oh.”

“Now my husband Craig, _he_ were from Galway.”

Sam perked up again, curiosity piqued. “And, um… what about your other husbands?”

“Well let’s see... Beamard were from Tremone, Sean an’ Riley was both from Dublin ‘fore they moved out to the Gaeltacht, an’ Aoife were a woman of Malin Beg, right there at the Silver Strand.”

Sam’s eyes went round.

“...What’s that look for?”

“Um— nothing.”

Bris eyed him carefully. “What, ain’t I told you about Aoife?”

“Well— Um. No.”

"I see." She nodded slightly. “S’pose I still have a lot to tell you, huh.”

“I mean, if you're okay talking about it.”

“A’course I am! Ye jus’ never asked.”

“I-I just… I didn’t want to push you.”

A lopsided little smile tugged on her lips, and she gave him her sweetest look of the evening.

She stepped back from Sam, and went to turn the music down. “You go take a seat, love. I’ll make us some tea.”

It took her hours, but Bris told Sam everything. Almost two hundred years of little schools she’d attended, of Revolutions and Wars she’d witnessed and partook in, of coasting from village to village, of her spouses, her families, her children. She spoke until the tea ran out, and then she made some more. On and on she went as Sam sat, asking questions here and there, but otherwise fully enraptured in her tale.

 

Until the lights cut out, and they were painted in the glare of flashing red lights.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

####  **Do I Wanna Know?**

_“...So have you got the guts?_  
_Been wonderin’ if your heart's still open and if so I wanna know what time it shuts,_  
_Simmer down and pucker up,_  
_I'm sorry to interrupt,_  
_It's just I'm constantly on the cusp,_  
_Of tryin’ to kiss you,_  
_I don't know if you, feel the same as I do,_ _  
But we could be together, if you wanted to,_

 _(Do I wanna know)_  
_If this feeling flows both ways?_  
_(Sad to see you go)_  
_Was sorta hopin’ that you'd stay,_  
_(Baby we both know)_  
_That the nights were mainly made for sayin’ things that you can't say tomorrow day,_

_Crawlin’ back to you…”_

 

Dean… was dealing.

Okay, maybe he was coasting.

Whatever. The word didn’t matter. The feeling did.

And the feeling was good.

 

Most of the time.

 

Some of the time.

 

...There were good times.

 

Sure maybe his sleep was even shittier than usual, even though he also may or may not be tired _all_ the fucking time. And maybe when he _could_ sleep, the nightmares were getting more frequent, and longer, way longer than they’d been in a long time. And yeah, maybe he couldn’t hold down anything but plain toast lately. And maybe he hadn’t shit in a week and maybe his skin always _itched_ now— god, he’d forgotten about the itching—

 _But._ He could see it on everyone’s faces, he was getting better. Things were better. Even Cas was spending more time around him and _that_ was definitely good. It was torture, but it was good.

If he tried hard enough, Dean could pretend things were back to normal between him and Cas. Back to the way things had been before, back when every moment spent next to him without just fuckin’ jumping him right then and there wasn’t like a hot poker being slowly sunk into his chest. Back when he could sit in the same room with him and not have to constantly remind himself when he should really look away for a bit. Back when every accidental touch didn’t set his skin on fire and every glance that Cas met didn’t give him a full-blown heart attack.

Dean was so close he could taste it— well he _would_ if his mouth wasn’t so dry— but the point was he was close. Just a little more time, he told himself, and he might be able to put this whole ridiculous chapter of his life behind him. Just a little longer, he said, and things could be okay.

Sitting in the map room, scrolling through who even knew what website, he picked up his phone to skip the current song— because _"_ _Listen to the Music”_ would _not stop fucking playing_ on his music stations— and took a sip off his whiskey while he waited for the next one to buffer.

But the next thing he heard, on what was _supposed_ to be a _proper_ classic rock station, was— Oh, god, was that synth? Synth _chimes?_ What the actual fuck?

Wait.

_“Oh, I can't fight this feelin’ any longer—”_

Dean groaned, long and loud, and let his head fall against the table...

 _“—And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow,_  
_What started out as friendship has grown stronger,_  
_I only wish I had the strength to let it show...”_

...Though he didn't change the song.

Dean pulled his head up to rest it on his arms. A lump was forming in his throat. He tried to swallow it down, but it wasn't going anywhere.

 _“...And even as I wander,_  
_I'm keeping you in sight,_  
_You're a candle in the window,_  
_On a cold, dark winter's night,_ _  
And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might,_

 _And I can't fight this feelin’ anymore!_  
_I've forgotten what I started fightin’ for!_  
_It's time to bring this ship into the shore,_ _  
And throw away the oars, forever…”_

Dean’s face creased against his arms with a spike of rage.

“I ain’t forgotten _shit,_ you fucking asshole—” He snatched up the speaker, remembered he couldn't switch the song from it, and dropped it to the table to grab his phone.

“Fucking _stupid_ goddamn _radio_ _—_ _You’re not helping!”_ he grated as he jammed the skip button.

But the next song fucked up, and started somewhere in the middle.

 _“—of a,_ _  
_ _I'm so sorry,_

 _Life isn't always what you think it'd be,_  
_Turn your head for one second and the tables turn,_  
_And I know, I know that I did you wrong,_  
_But will you trust me when I say that I'll_ _  
Make it up to you-ou, somehow, somehow…”_

Dean drew back a bit, staring at the speaker.

He raised a cautious hand to his phone and skipped the song, rejecting it with a ‘thumbs-down’ for good measure. Thankfully, the fuckery seemed to be over, and he was given some nice, normal Tom Petty next.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in his chair, softly singing along and letting that sharp, whining harmonica and slowly thumping drum wash over him to clear his heavy mind.  

God, he still couldn't believe Petty was gone. He’d always kind of wanted to go to one of his shows, but... it had just never happened. Now he was gone, and at only fuckin’ 66, too.

And from what? A fuckin’ mistake from his fuckin’ hip meds. Dean finished off his whiskey and silently hoped he wouldn’t end up like that if he got old. Bad hips and a billion pills to take to kill you in your sleep—

He paused.

“Hello, Dean.”

 _“Fuck—!”_ Dean jumped in his seat. “Oh, uh—! Hey, Cas.”

Son of a bitch. It had been years since Cas’d made him jump just from showing up. Fuckin’ _hell,_ he was wound so _tight_ today, maybe he needed another—

Cas set a beer down in front of him.

It might have been the most fantastic thing he’d ever seen. “Fuck, you're a goddamned blessing, Cas,” he said as he reached for the bottle.

But he stopped. Staring at it.

“Dean?”

He grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap.

“Sorry, Cas, I just—” He turned to face Cas and found him squinting at him from the seat he’d taken, and goddammit, that was not adorable, that was _not_ adorable—

“Sorry,” Dean grunted as he turned away again, “I just— um— That sounded a lot less lame in my head.”

Cas’s brows arched. “I didn't think it was lame.”

Dean hunched over his bottle. God damn it, he could _feel_ his face getting hot, god _damn it—_

Cas turned his frown on the little speaker. He picked it up from where it had landed on its side and righted it. “This song has always confused me,” he said.

Oh, thank fuck, something else to talk about. “A lot of songs confuse you, Cas,” Dean huffed.

“Yes, but this one is playing right now.”

“Yeah...” Dean chuckled softly. “Yeah, guess that's what matters, right?”

Cas furrowed his brow at that as Dean started the song over for him.

 _“Let me run with you tonight,_ _  
_ _I'll take you on a moonlight ride,_

 _There's someone I used to see,_ _  
_ _But she don't give a damn for me,_

 _But let me get to the point, let's roll another joint,_  
_And turn the radio loud, I'm too alone to be proud,_  
_‘N you don't know how it feels,_  
_You don't know how it feels... to be meee,”_

“So what are you stuck on?” Dean leaned back and took a drag from his beer. “Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“Well, many things,” Cas frowned, fiddling with his own bottle. “But most glaringly: why doesn't this man just tell us how he feels?”

Dean snorted and raised an eyebrow at him. “He is, Cas, he's tellin’ you through the whole fuckin' song.”

 _“People come, people go,_  
_Some grow young, some grow cold,_  
_I woke up in between,_ _  
A memory and a dream,”_

“But he's using such roundabout metaphors. Wouldn't it be easier to just tell us?”

*Wouldn't be much of a song if he did,* Dean grumbled. He took another sip and sank lower in his chair. “And, you know... maybe… maybe he just... didn't have the words to say it any other way.”

Cas squinted at the speaker.

...Still not getting it.

Dean sighed.

 _“So let's get to the point, let's roll another joint,_  
_Let's head on down the road,_  
_There's somewhere I gotta go,_  
_And you don't know how it feels,_  
_You don't know how it feels... to be meee...”_

“He mentions drug usage frequently, too.” Cas tipped his head. “Why does he need to alter his mental state?”

“Maybe it's helping,” Dean snapped.

“I don't see how drug abuse—”

“Fuck, it's just pot, Cas, not fuckin’ heroin. He probably just wants to chill the fuck out with how shitty his life is.”

Cas’s frown deepened. “Perhaps if he just spoke to someo—”

“It's not that fucking simple, Cas!”

Cas drew back, pulling his beer closer to his stomach.

Dean let his fist fall to the table, squeezing his eyes shut against the hurt confusion on Cas’s face. “Thought you'd hung around humans long enough to know that this crap ain't that easy.”

The song continued on behind them, neither of them looking at each other.

Dean slipped a hand along his thigh, feeling the little pills in his pocket he had tucked away for later. He set his drink on the table.

“Cas, the guy in the song... nobody would care even if he did say somethin’. He’s all alone and knows no one would wanna hear about his stupid fucking problems. They don't wanna hear that crap outta him.”

Cas’s frown returned, “But... _we_ do.”

Dean turned to face Cas again.

Cas pointedly glanced at the speaker. “We're listening right now.”

Dean looked at the speaker, too.

 _“...you don't know how it feels,_  
_You don't know how it feels,_  
_No, you don't know how it feels... to be meee.”_

Dean’s upper lip twitched. “Listening, but not understanding.”

Cas narrowed his eyes, “Perhaps if I heard the song again—”

“No.”

Cas looked over at him.

“No, I, um...” Dean fumbled, “I just— I don't wanna go through it again.”

Cas looked at Dean carefully. “Alright,” he relented, “I'm sorry.”

Dean winced and picked up his beer again, “Don’t apologize, Cas. You didn’t do anything.”

“I’m—” Cas caught himself, “I'll try to stop doing that.”

God damn it, that wasn't any fucking better.

Dean kept his eyes down as the last beats of the drumset faded out. He fiddled with his bottle. It was too cold against his palm. He set it on the table again, harsh enough that some of it jumped up and spilled out the top.

Stupid fucking song.

He was about to get up, intending to abandon the beer and just go refill his whiskey, when a familiar acoustic guitar line began to play.

It was a soothing thing, like water, dripping from a roof after a storm. And with just those first few measures, Dean felt his mind calm and his muscles relax.

He sighed, and settled down into his chair again. Yeah, leave it to good old Zepp to bring him back around. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it all in.

 _“Hey lady, you got the love I need,_  
_Maybe more than enough,_  
_Oh darlin’, darlin’, darlin’,_  
_Walk a while with me,_ _  
Ohh, you've got so much… so much... so much,”_

As the song picked up, Cas went quiet. Oddly quiet, even for him. Dean discreetly opened one eye to sneak a look at him and found him staring between Dean and the speaker. As the song picked up, the barest hints of a smile peeked through on Cas’s parted lips.

 _“Many have I loved, and many times been bitten,_ _  
_ _Many times I've gazed along the open road,”_

Dean huffed a short laugh and sat up in his chair again, taking a second just to watch Cas enjoying the song.

But then, he found himself asking, “Hey, Cas?”

Cas jumped and snapped to him, “Ah— Yes?”

 _“Many times I've lied, and many times I've listened,_ _  
_ _Many times I've wondered how much there is to know,”_

“Why… um… why do you like my music so much, man? I know Zeppelin gets your gears goin’ but that's just one band, you like all my shit.” And maybe it was the booze, or maybe just that earlier smile, but Dean also added, “You don't do this with Sam's eighties-soundin’ crap, or Claire's weird techno stuff, or that jazz-rock that Bris listens to. What’s so special about my shit?”

 _“Many dreams come true, and some have silver linings,_ _  
_ _I live for my dream, and a pocket full of gold,”_

Cas didn’t answer for a while. Dean didn’t push him.

When he did answer, it was slow and deliberate. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d think he was almost... reciting it or something.

Cas set his shoulders, and began:

“Music... isn’t something God gave to Man. Music is something humans invented themselves. And angels never... we don't have music. We don’t have anything like it. We are only wavelengths, celestial intent manifest, and... unfortunately the best way to describe what we do have is with the language that surrounds human music. We Harmonize, we Sing together in Joy. But we don't. Not like this,” he gestured at the speaker.

 _“Mellow is the man who knows what he's been missin’,_ _  
_ _Many, many men can't see the open road,”_

“Humans created music to— As a release,” Cas continued, “To express the state of the souls they can't see with their eyes. Each song is a message, a display, a piece of someone’s soul.”

 _“Many is a word that only leaves you guessin’_ _  
_ _Guessin’ 'bout a thing you really ought to know, oh, oh, oh, oh,”_

“Those who don't create music themselves, they find the pieces of other’s souls that fit them best, they find their favorites, they gravitate towards the styles and artists whose wavelengths resonate best with their own.”

 _“Really ought to know, oh, oh,_  
_I really ought to kno-o-ow,_  
_O-o-oh,_ _  
You know I should, you know I should, you know I should, you know I should...”_

Cas was grasping his beer bottle so tightly it was a wonder it hadn't shattered yet. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“So your… your music is my favorite, because it’s an expression of your truest self.”

He swallowed.

 

“I like your music, Dean, because I like the sound of your soul.”

 

The guitar slowly faded out. Another song came on. Dean didn’t hear it.

When finally Cas opened his eyes again they stayed glued to the table, but all Dean wanted was to meet them. Dean sat, his lips slightly parted over breaths he wasn’t taking, and mentally _screamed_ for Cas to look up at him. He _needed_ Cas to look up at him. He needed to see what was happening on Cas’s face _right now_ because you don't just get to _say_ something like that and not follow it up with either some goddamn clarification or the motherfucking kiss of a lifetime.

He raised a hand, intending to grab Cas’s shoulder and fucking _turn him around_ to _fucking face him already—_

The lights cut out, and they were thrown into a sea of flashing red alarms.

Ketch skidded to a halt in the doorway from the library, “We’re under attack!” he shouted, gun drawn and aiming wildly.

Dean and Cas jumped up, drawing their weapons and spinning for the threat. They found it just behind them in the form of a new presence in the room, a white man with sandy blond hair, sharp eyes, and, currently, a bemused frown.

He looked around at the flashing lights before landing on Dean and Cas. With a lazy gesture, he waved off the gun pointed at his face.

“Yeah, yeah, hello to you, too,” Lucifer scoffed. He pointed clasped hands at Dean. “Hey, you got a minute to talk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hisses through my teeth* Did I say final quarter? I meant second-to-last-fifth. My bad.
> 
>  
> 
> \---
> 
>  
> 
> Yes, that song that Sam's phone plays is "Thinkin' Out Loud" by Ed Sheeran. Yes, it is _incredibly_ sappy, even for me.


	17. Chapter 17

“Of course by that I mean ‘Come with me now, or I’ll burn your little hidey-hole to the ground along with everyone in it’.” Lucifer flashed him a smile.

“Yeah um, _no,”_ Dean tipped his head a bit, furrowing his brow, “to— _any_ of that.”

Lucifer sighed. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He raised his fingers, ready to snap—

_“Lucifer!”_

They turned to see Gabriel standing in the doorway to the library, Sam, Bris, and Direl close behind him.

“Gabey! Hey! So that _was_ you I was feeling!” Lucifer smiled warmly, spreading his hands wide. “Ah— Yeah— I just didn’t recognize you, see you’re so... _small,_ right now.” He squinted and pinched his fingers together. Then popped upright again with a finger to his chin, “Wait. And dead. Didn't I kill you?”

Gabriel just stared him down.  _“Leave._ Now.”

 _“Ohh,_ yeah— no can do. See, I need _him,”_ he pointed at Dean. “‘Course I’d like to have you, too, Sammy!” he shouted past Gabriel, “But we’ve been through all th—” Lucifer stopped, squinting at Sam. “Wait a minute, you look… different…”

“Need me for what?” Dean barked at him, drawing his attention off of Sam.

“Wow. I’d ask if you guys have been living under a rock, but—” he gestured around the bunker. Lucifer landed a hand on his hip, “Now maybe I’m the only one who _cares_ about the _super-crazy-obvious_ incoming threat that I’ve been trying to warn you all about for months, but, ah, yeah, we’re all about to be _really_ boned here. So _you,_ are gonna come with _me,_ fulfill your destiny, and we’re all gonna have a great time saving the world together, okay?”

“I swear to god if you don’t start making sense I’m gonna shoot you just for the hell of it.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes to the ceiling. *This is why I usually just— Shoulda just popped in here, snatched him up, popped back out—* He sighed. “Okay, so look here, you little talking _ant._ My Brother is coming, and with _Dad_ gone— and _my_ Vessel being an _absolute killjoy!—_ the only one who can stop my Brother is my Brother. So _I,”_ he pointed at himself, “am gonna go get my Brother. And _you,”_ he pointed at Dean, “make my Brother _stronger_ than my Brother. Is this coming out simple enough for you?”

“And you actually think Dean would to agree to that?” Cas said, stepping forward.

Lucifer shut his eyes, putting a fist to his mouth. *Shoulda just— just snatched him— just in and out—* He exhaled sharply and tossed his hand to the sky. “Literally the _entire world_ is at stake here and I still don’t understand why I’m the only one on my side!”

“Because you’re the worst?” Dean slipped.

Lucifer’s mouth fell open. “Oh you think I care what you say to me? Yeah, okay, pipsqueak—”

“There’s no _sides_ here, Lucifer,” Gabriel cut in.

“Are you sure?” Lucifer faced him. “‘Cause _you_ guys seem to be on the side of _let Michael come over here and kill us all.”_

“Of course we’re not, you asshat.”

“Then what exactly _are_ you doing? Because _I’ve_ been doing plenty.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, first of all, _ouch,_ Gabriel, I’m hurt. Second of all—”

“Stop!” Cas stepped forward between his older brothers. “Your bickering is getting us nowhere. Lucifer, we don’t need your terrible plan, we’re going to ask Heaven for their assistance in dealing with this.”

“Um,” Lucifer stared at him, “who are you, and where is Castiel?”

Cas just glared at him, “I’ve had some time to sort things out.” His arm holding his blade stiffened, “Now you need to leave.”

“Oh I would, I’d be glad to, I’d just _love_ to, except— _I’m out of options._ So no, no I won’t.” He threw an arm up at the ceiling, “You think you’re gonna just waltz up into Heaven and they’re gonna be _so_ glad to help you out with this, but see, I’ve already been _doing_ that. I’ve been raising my armies. Except— and now just listen to this, this is the fun part— _there’s no armies left.”_

Cas shared a look with Gabriel. _“Your_ armies?” Gabriel asked.

“Yeah. _My_ armies. Because I’ve been up in Heaven, ruling in Dad’s stead— where I _belong,_ by the way _—_ and since _literally no one will help me,_ I’ve been trying to get _us_ ready for Michael.”

“You’ve been training the angels?” Gabriel asked.

Cas looked Lucifer up and down, “But it’s not working.”

 _“Have you ever tried to teach a clerk how to swordfight?”_ Lucifer threw his hands out. “Our little brothers and sisters— Gabriel— they’re useless— they have one job— and they can’t— they _refuse—”_

“Have you checked that they had a competent teacher?" said Cas.

His mouth dropped open again. Lucifer shifted his weight, “Oh— So now _you_ think I care what you have to say? Okay—”

“So Heaven can’t help.”

Everyone turned to Dean. He didn’t flinch under their gaze.

Lucifer straightened his shoulders and tipped his head slightly, sizing Dean up. “No,” he answered, “I’ve got a handful of Seraphs and a bunch of nerds up there.”

What Lucifer was saying must have finally registered, because surprise burst on Cas and Gabriel’s faces.

Dean stared Lucifer down, the lines on his face cutting sharply under the slowly strobing red lights.

He lowered his gun.

“Dean—!” Cas and Sam started.

“Thank Dad at least one of you idiots can see the big picture,” Lucifer cut them off. He beckoned Dean over, “Come on, we have to hurry—”

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere with you,” Dean said. “I’ll get down there in my own time or not at all, got it?”

A snarl curled on Lucifer’s face, but he stopped, and took a deep breath to clear it, pressing hid folded hands against his nose. He slowly lowered them to point at Dean. “If you aren’t down in Texas by _tomorrow_ , I’m going to come back and I’m going to personally kill everyone here. Probably twice.”

Dean didn’t blink. “Just get the fuck out before I change my mind.”

The snarl returned. “Everyone,” Lucifer repeated. “And I think I’ll salt the earth for good measure.”

With the rush of wings, Lucifer vanished.

The red alarms finally faded and the lights of the bunker returned.

Direl leaned over to Bris. *So, wait… _that_ were the Devil?* he whispered. *He were just a whiny little cunt!*

Sam rushed down the stairs over to Dean, “Okay, what is your _actual_ plan, because I know it isn’t that.”

Dean returned his gun to his holster, not answering him.

“Dean!” Sam spun him by the arm. “That isn’t your plan!”

Everyone stared at him, waiting for an answer.

“Dean...” Sam tried to meet his eyes. “You just made an actual deal with—”

“I know what the fuck I did, Sam!”

Sam recoiled from him. “Are you sure? Because it sure fucking sounded like you’re going to agree to be Michael’s Sword!”

Dean dropped his eyes again.

“No…” Sam shook his head. “No! We put this shit to rest years ago—!”

“Yeah, when there wasn’t _another_ archangel coming to fuck us all!” Dean shouted. “This didn’t go away just because we shunted Michael into the Cage!”

Cas approached Sam and Dean, “Dean, maybe this isn’t the right—”

“Did we not just listen to the same douche-nozzle? Because I know _I_ heard what’s about to happen without this!”

“Dean, you don't even know what you’re agreeing to,” Sam huffed. “You can’t understand what an archangel will—”

“I fuckin’ know what I’m doing, Sam!” Dean yelled. “And you know, too, and so do you, Cas! You’ve both done this before and you’ve felt what they can do and you fucking _know_ what kind of crazy is coming our way! You know what it’s going to take to stop this!” He stepped back from them. “Look, maybe we can attack first, or maybe you can sneak through when this Other Michael comes and get Mom—”

“What? No!” Sam shouted, “We’re not gonna do anything like that because this isn’t happening! We can take care of this ourselves—”

“With what?” Dean snapped. “A handful of hunters and two half-baked angels?”

Cas looked away, down to the floor.

“Maybe I can make a deal with Michael,” Dean started, “keep control somehow—”

“No! Stop!” Sam cut over him, “Stop _planning_ this, this isn't going to happen! You’re wrong, Dean, there’s another way, we’ll find it, we always do—”

“You’re not listening, Sam—”

“Oh I’m fucking listening, Dean, but I can’t believe what you’re fucking—”

“Sam.”

Sam spun back at Gabriel’s voice.

Gabriel wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Sam, he’s right.”

His jaw dropped, _“What?”_

“Sam… Michael is the strongest of all of us. He’s Dad’s perfect soldier. _He_ led our fight against the Darkness, right alongside Dad, _he_ led the battles against Lucifer’s rebellion, always out in front, the greatest among the Host.” He shook his head, “Lucifer is telling the truth. Without Dad, without a proper outfit from Heaven, Michael and his Sword are—”

 _“Dean_ is not Michael’s _Sword!”_

“Yes I am, I always was,” Dean said. “It’s not like this is new. All the shit we’ve punted down the road… C’mon, Sam, you had to see this coming eventually.”

"No..." Sam flipped between Gabriel and Dean, neither man willing to look at him. "No, I... I _ended_ this when I..." He turned to Cas, “Cas, c’mon, please. They’re being ridiculous, right?”

Cas wouldn’t look up from the floor.

“No,” Sam backed away from them. “No. We’ll find something else... a-a Hand of God— or another Lance— o-or Crowley—”

“Yeah, you have fun convincing _Crowley_ to help us.” Dean snatched his tumbler and phone from the table and started up the stairs into the library. “Meanwhile, I’ll be in Texas, actually _doing_ something.”

Sam balled his fists. “Sure, ‘in Texas.’ You don’t even know where you’re going!”

“Quitaque,” Gabriel said as Dean reached the landing.

Sam gaped at him.

“The state park there, Caprock Canyon. That’s where you’re headed.”

Dean gave him a nod in response, and continued past him into the kitchen.

Sam glared between Gabriel and Cas. He pushed past Cas and leapt up the stairs into the library, heading straight for the shelves to start unloading books onto the nearest table.

Gabriel turned to leave, but Bris caught him by the arm.

*The hell are you on about, sayin’ there ain’t no other way?* she hissed at him. *What the fuck was all that talk about no such thing as Destiny and Purpose, then?*

*Not for you,* he answered her. *But for him… It’s different. Dad always had a role for these two to play. Sam served his and now Dean… This is the world’s last option, Bris. _This_ is Dad’s Will.*

Her hand slipped from Gabriel’s arm and the angel continued past her, disappearing down the hallway.

Bris turned around and looked between Dean, who she could see through the doorway pouring himself another drink, Cas, staring unblinkingly at the floor, and Sam, frantically flipping through a book as he stood over it.

She shared a silent look with Direl and went to join Sam, carefully placing a hand on his arm. When he didn’t pull away she wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him tight, swaying with him as she murmured comforts into his shirt.

Direl also looked between the three silent men. He lingered on Dean, but he tensed, and instead turned to go down into the map room. He pulled out a chair at the table and gently guided Cas into it, then took up the seat next to him. Neither of them spoke.

Dean downed his drink, glared at the glass, and thunked it onto the counter. He took the rest of the bottle with him, left it in his room after washing down another dose, and headed off down the hallway, deep into the bunker.


	18. Despicable

####  **Despicable**

 

 _“...The boy who fell into the sky,_  
_Had no one there to watch him cry,_  
_He looked at you with his empty eyes,_ _  
And said, ‘I'm doin’ you a favor, doin’ you a favor’,_

 _Despicable,_  
_I’m just a bottom feeder,_  
_Despicable,_  
_I ain’t never been a keeper,_  
_Despicable,_ _  
Love her then I leave her,_

_And if I were you, I wouldn't love me neither…”_

 

Dean tore through the storeroom shelves, throwing boxes over his shoulder, tumbling piles to the floor— nothing was where it was supposed to be and everything he’d moved was right back where it had always been and he fucking _swore_ someday he was just going to _torch_ this whole _fucking_ room and the whole _goddamned bullshit magic bunker and— _“FUCK!”

 _“_ _FUCK_ _!”_ Dean roared into the unhearing space. He snatched the nearest thing and hurled it across the room. shattering somewhere, unseen by Dean’s eyes blinded with tears.

His knees gave out and he collapsed into a shelf. He slid down to the floor, not caring what sharp or jagged edges he landed on when he reached the bottom.

He drew his knees up to his chest and screamed into them, screamed until he went hoarse, screamed as loud and long as his drug-addled mind could command.

No one would hear him anyway.

Soon his rasping shouts had tapered off into rougher cries, then baying wails of raw resentment. As his breaths became choked and stuttered, they faded further into whimpers, no more than clawing attempts at further expelling the sheer _fuckery_ of it all. The adrenaline of the last half hour was dropping off, and he found himself falling, sinking down and down into pillows made of needles, and blankets of smouldering ash.

 _“Why?”_ he croaked. Why was it always him? Why would no one just _leave him alone?_ Why did no one but him have to go through all this _shit_ for the world? Why did this shit always show up for him? Slap him across the goddamned face? Throw him around like a doll and just _leave him_ to try to get back up again?

And why did he always get back up again?

Dean lolled his head, striking his skull against the shelf behind him. He barely felt it.

One rock at a time, all that had just happened started to cave in on him, slowly drowning him in the gray reality of it.

Because _Lucifer_ had been in the bunker...

And _Sam_ didn’t believe him, didn’t think he knew what he was talking about...

And Gabriel _knew_ this was the only way...

And Dean was gonna have to give himself to Michael...

And Tom Petty was really dead.

And Dean was gonna go the same fuckin’ way.

And Cas was just _shit_ with metaphors, man...

And Cas had said he liked the sound of his soul.

 

Dean was sure his heart stopped.

 

Cas had said he liked the sound of his soul.

 

He scrambled to sit up, more boxes falling around him.

_Cas said he liked the sound of your soul!_

_Cas likes the sound of_ _your_ _soul! _

_Your_ _music is_ _his_ _favorite because_ _Cas likes the sound of your soul!_

Dean began to tremble. His elbows buckled and he slipped back against the shelf.

No. Cas didn’t mean—

He couldn’t.

He didn’t mean it like that...

Did he?

 _Yes! Yes, of_ _course_ _he—_

~~Of course not~~

Dean’s stomach dropped.

~~Even if it did, what the fuck does it matter? The fuck does it matter now? You can’t do a fucking thing about it~~

But—

~~What kind of selfish bastard are you that you’d chew him up like that, just to go do this tomorrow? Even if he did— and he doesn't, you stupid fuck— you’d only be tearing him apart~~

~~As if you haven’t broken him enough~~

_Maybe there’s another way—_

~~There’s no other way, you shit-eating coward. Fuck— any excuse in a storm, huh?~~

~~You disgusting, sick bastard, you only wanna use Cas to get out of this~~

~~_“Two lives! The whole world for two lives!”_ ~~

Dean’s fists clenched so hard it hurt. His heart pulled so hard it burned.

No. No excuses. It was him. He was the only one who could do this. He was the only one who could hold off what was coming.

~~You’ll finally be good for something~~

He’d finally be good for something.

~~And you can’t fuck it up. You just have to do it, and Michael will do the rest~~

But what if Michael fucked it up?

~~Then you’d be gone. And no one would have to deal with your shit again~~

No one would have to deal with his shit.

Yeah. He either made it or he didn’t.

 

The thought was almost…

 

Comforting.

 

Dean stood from the floor.

In a calm he hadn’t known in months, he searched the shelves for what he’d been originally looking for. He found them near the back, three things he had saved and one he had retrieved from a pile of ash an age ago. Dean took them from their box, tucked them into his pants pocket, and left the storeroom.

 

———

 

Cas slowly became aware he was sitting. He stared, but saw nothing.

_half-baked angels_

_the crazy that’s coming our way_

_you just made an actual deal with—_

What had just happened?

Lucifer… And Dean...

This couldn't be happening, not again.

Cas caught sight of Dean's speaker, sitting silently on the table.

_Why do you like my music...?_

He had been so close.

The right song had come.

Dean had been so _happy._

He had given his speech, with almost no mistakes.

To have been _so close,_ and then—

And then _this._

That Michael would be their only solution...

That _Lucifer_ would deliver the message…

That _Gabriel_ would _agree…_

This was Fate.

This was Father’s Will.

Tears dropped from Cas’s chin to the table below. He didn’t notice them.

It didn’t matter whether Cas deserved Dean.

It didn’t matter whether Cas wanted Dean.

 

Cas wasn’t _meant_ to have Dean.

 

For the blink of an eye Cas had thought he could escape such things. For a shining moment he’d thought that his life was finally his own. But he should have known. He couldn’t escape this. He was an Angel of the Lord, and he was bound to all that entailed.

Fine.

Fine then.

He had tried to defy Father's Rules, and this was his Punishment.

Fine.

He stood from the table, spooking Direl with his sudden movement.

But Cas would be damned if Dean had to suffer for his folly.

 

———

 

 _“The goodbye is the hardest part,_  
_When we find ourselves back at the start,_  
_But I'm not so brave, and I'm not so smart,  
No, I'm doin’ you a favor, doin’ you a favor,_

 _One day you will understand,_  
_Why I pushed you away as I ran,_  
_And you will find a better man, than I am,  
Trust, I'm doin’ you a favor, doin’ you a favor,_

 _Despicable,_  
_I’m just a bottom feeder,_  
_Despicable,_  
_I ain’t never been a keeper,_  
_Despicable,  
Love her then I leave her,_

_And if I were you, I wouldn't love me neither,  
Said if I were you, I wouldn't love me neither…” _

Dean returned from the storeroom and went straight to his room. He pulled out his duffel and began to pack, filling the bag near to bursting—

But he stopped.

He… he didn’t need to pack for this.

Someone knocked on his door. They opened it before he could tell them to leave.

“Dean?”

Dean hunched his shoulders with a sigh. “Yeah, Cas.” he said, his voice still rough and scraping.

Cas entered the room, leaving the door cracked behind him. He stopped there, leaving a few feet between them.

It might as well have been a mile.

His gaze fell to the duffel on Dean’s bed. “You’re already leaving?”

Dean had to look away from the hurt in his eyes. “I only said I wasn’t goin’ with Lucifer. It’s nine hours, I should head out.”

“...So you’re not even going to give us a chance to find another way.”

“Cas, please, don’t—”

“We know where the Other Michael will be. We can put together a plan—”

“We only know where to find him, Cas, not how to gank him. This is the best bet we have—”

“Well it’s a _shit_ bet.”

Dean looked over to Cas in surprise. He was holding himself so stiffly he was shaking.

Dean deliberately dropped his eyes back to his duffel on the bed. “Still the best one we have. What the hell even _was_ our other plan? To just call in as many hunters as we could? This is going to spare them, and who knows how many other innocent people.”

“But, Dean—”

“It’s not like—” Dean swallowed. He kept his eyes down, the easier to placate Cas. “It’s not like he’s gonna... I’m gonna make it through this.”

“You’ve seen the result of possession by an archangel—”

“That guy was different. I’ll be okay. I’m his Sword.”

“I know that, Dean.”

He heard Cas shifting, the rustle of fabric deafening in Dean's ears as Cas approached him.

“You saw what happened to Sam.”

Dean sighed, letting his head drop between his shoulders.

“I’ll—” His hand went to his pants pocket. He forced it back down. “I’ll be okay.”

“But what are you going to do, Dean?” God, Cas was so close now. “We can’t let him roam free afterwards, you know what he’ll want. With both him and Lucifer free again he’ll want to finish what he started. Everything we worked for, everything we sacrificed—”

“I know that, Cas! I’m gonna—! I’m gonna figure something out.” He straightened up to face him. “I’m his _Sword,_ I’ll—”

“Damn it, Dean, that doesn’t matter!”

At the borderline rage in Cas’s eyes, Dean was thrown back to the last time they’d come to a head over this, to a rainy alleyway full of brick walls and trash cans. Now Cas stepped right up to him, causing him to flinch back.

“That won’t keep you safe!” stressed Cas. “It didn’t keep Sam safe! If this is really the only option available then we need a _plan—”_

His hand snatched through the air, and when he opened it between them Dean's pocket was empty and the Rings of the Four Horsemen sat in his palm.

“Cas—”

“—and this is not it.”

Dean swallowed. “Cas, you just said it, I can’t just eject him, we can’t let him stay out of the Cage—”

“If you go in there," Cas's eyes bored into his own, "I don’t know when I’ll be strong enough again to pull you out.”

“I—” Dean dropped his eyes from Cas, “I wasn’t expecting you to.”

Cas drew back slightly, his lips parting before he furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes at Dean. “So you were going to do exactly what Sam did, hope you could wrest control from Michael and suffer for untold centuries in the Cage,” he threw the rings into the duffel, “but you weren’t going to tell us.”

Dean’s silence was Cas’s answer.

Cas swelled with indignance, and Dean could  _feel_ the rising power that sat behind his eyes.

But instead of the outburst Dean expected, Cas backed away from him.

In his surprise, Dean let him go.

Cas’s hands rose next to his head, _“Why,_ Dean?" he gritted. _"Why_ do you always do this? Why do you _still…_   _Why_  won’t you ever let me help y—” He stopped. Those eyes met his and pierced Dean in the worst way, seeing right through him as they always did.

And the _pain_ that dawned in them, was like a knife straight to Dean's heart.

“You still don’t think I should care.” Cas shook his head, his gaze unblinkingly locked on Dean’s. “After ten years, after everything I’ve said and done, after everything we’ve been through... You still don’t believe that I should care.”

He took another step back from Dean, finally looking away, and mumbled something Dean didn't catch. Something about Dean ignoring what he didn't want to hear.

“You'll find a way down to Texas, won't you,” Cas finally said. “Even if we try to stop you. It won’t matter what we do, it won't matter... what we tell you.”

Cas didn’t wait for a response. He looked back up to Dean, “Just give us the night, Dean. Give us a few hours to try.”

“Cas—”

“There might still be another way.”

“There is no—”

“We could still get help.”

“Cas, stop, there's no point in—

“Dean, please... just listen to me.”

Dean’s chest clenched. His protests stopped cold.

Cas held his gaze, just stared with that awful pain still bared to Dean. “Did you and I not learn our lessons from Hell?” he asked.

Dean had to look away again, “Cas—”

“Please don’t run into this, Dean. We might still find another way. And if we can't, then… then maybe we can find a way to ensure you come back to us in one piece.” Cas dipped his head, to bring Dean’s eyes back to his. “Please. Just promise you’ll give us a chance to try.”

“I, um…” Dean’s throat was growing tight. _“Yeah, Cas,”_ he answered, his voice somehow tripping even rougher, “I’ll wait. I’ll, um… I’ll just try to get some sleep or something, and I'll wait.”

Cas gave a small shake of his head, “Come to the library, Dean. We’ll figure this out together.”

"Nah. Sam won't wanna see my face anyway."

"You know that isn't true."

"It's gonna be a long drive."

"Not if you don't have to go."

“I should really try to sleep.”

“You haven’t been sleeping lately anyway.”

Dean's eyes snapped up.

Cas didn’t look away.

“Then I should definitely try tonight,” Dean answered.

Cas searched his eyes, as though he were weighing a terribly heavy decision. “Yes. Of course,” he finally conceded. “That only makes sense. But… if you change your mind… We’ll be here. We’re going to figure this out.”

“Right. Sure,” Dean agreed, turning back to the bed, making a show of pushing his pointless duffel across to the other side. 

Dean started pulling the sheets back. But Cas wasn’t making any move to leave.

“Um, Cas—”

“If you do have to leave,” he said, looking down at the floor between them, “you… you shouldn’t go down there alone.”

“Cas...”

“I—” He looked up, meeting Dean's gaze with one last spark of determination lighting his eyes. “I could go with you.”

 

And Dean dropped his head once again, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, because he just _couldn’t_ look at him. If he kept looking at Cas right now— with those arched brows and that set jaw and those _damned baby blues—_ he knew he’d call the whole thing off. That spark was going to light him like a tinderbox and he would call the whole fucking thing off and he would close that gap between them and he’d pull him in right there and he’d kiss that awful desperation right out of his voice and—

 

“No.”

 

Dean's response fell like a rock to the floor.

The answering silence was suffocating.

“I'm sorry, Cas,” Dean tried, still unable to face him like the coward he was. “I'm sorry but—”

“No... it's alright, Dean,” Cas’s voice fell flat. “I can… I can respect your wishes.”

And just like that, the spark was gone from his voice. Dean had stomped it out.

A small part of him was glad, because Cas was right, Dean _had_ learned his lesson from Hell: he couldn’t keep Cas out of that, but he could keep Cas out of this.

The far larger part of him hated every fiber of his being.

But this was how it had to go. This was how it had to be. This was the only way they were going to stop the—

“Dean…”

Dean made the mistake of looking up.

Cas’s face had shifted, taking on this… this _look_ that was just so fuckin’ _sad._ And _defeated,_ and—

 

The proper word for that look, that same fucking look from Sioux Falls, slammed into Dean like a goddamned truck.

 

_Longing._

 

Longing. _Longing._ It repeated itself a hundred times in his head, losing its meaning and becoming just a sound, just a sound that meant—

_I’ll always come to protect you._

_I would never allow such harm to come to you._

_I’ll do this… for you._

_Don’t hurt yourself over me._

_I could go with you._

**_I could go with you._ **

_I like the sound of your soul._

In the course of about three seconds, Dean was assaulted by months of Cas’s words in another light.

“If you change your mind,” Cas’s small, quiet voice snapped him back to the present, “we’ll be in the library.”

And he stepped out into the hallway, and just like that, Cas was gone.

Dean stared at the closed door.

_...I told you I told you I told you I told you—_

Dean shook his head sharply. No— No way—

 _I_ _told_ _you I_ _told_ _you I_ _told_ _you—_

Stop it! You don’t know that—

 _I told you_ _I told you _ _I TOLD YOU_ _I TOLD YOU— _

Shut UP!

His feet unglued themselves from the floor and sent him across his room, pacing as his hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly.

No. It _couldn’t_ be—

_What else could that have been? W_ _hat else was that look?_

I dunno! He's upset! Even _he_ gets upse—

_You can't give me that crap anymore! Not after all this! _

~~It still doesn’t matter~~

_Of course it matters! This changes everything!_

~~This still doesn’t work for us~~

_It works for Sam and Bris! It works for literally everyone else—! _

~~Oh, sure, _everyone_~~

_Everyone!_

~~Sure as fuck didn’t work for Dad~~

Dean halted his pacing.

Oh

Oh okay

We’re gonna go _there_

~~Come on, what did Dad get from this? Nothing but _pain_~~

Don’t you _even—_

~~Dad got a lifetime of hunting one fucking demon, a demon he didn’t even get to kill~~

We finished it, we gave him—

~~Dad got fucked. Dad got dead all because of this bullshit~~

It wasn’t like that—

~~Dad got a life of hunting. Dad got dead Mom and a couple of sniveling _brats_ to tote around—~~

Dad had _everything_ before it was taken from him!

Dad lost _Mom!_

Dad lost his _soulmate—!_

Dean stilled. His hands unclenched.

 

 _Remember when Cas fucking died? Remember how_ _that_ _fucking felt?_

 

What happened to Dad… was that what had happened to Dean?

 

_Why would Cas fly off the handle like that?_

 

Was that…

Was that what had happened to Cas?

 

The weight of his realization was crushing, and yet, Dean hadn’t felt so light in weeks. His eyes slowly rounded and his lips slightly parted, and he looked again to that door Cas had just walked out of.

Dean surged forward, ready to run right into that library, and he made it halfway across the room, had his hand already outstretched to the handle—

When there was a rush of wings, and a voice, “So. You figured it out yet?”

Dean spun to see Gabriel standing across the room, arms crossed and nose wrinkled with a scowl.

“Figured what out?” Dean challenged.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes.

Dean set his shoulders and faced Gabriel down. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Cut the crap, Winchester,” Gabriel snapped. He dropped his crossed arms and pointed a finger at Dean. “Do you know who Cas asked for when he woke up?”

“Fuck off, I’m not in the mood for your—”

“You. He asked for you, you absolute prick,” he spat. “I was right there. I hadn’t left his side all night. I was pouring my grace into him as fast as I could recover it— He hadn’t seen me in _eight years_ and who did he ask for? You. Not me, not Sam, not even _Dad—_ You.”

Dean’s eyes flashed wide before they darted away.

“He would do anything for you— _anything—_ his words, not mine. _You_ infected him with your gooey nonsense and now he’d risk _everything_ for your oblivious ass. So I need you to get this whole situation through your thick skull before you kill my little brother, you idiot.”

“So you’re here to stop me from going.”

“Oh, no, you have to go. The world isn’t worth your one life.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Gabriel. “And here I thought you’d changed since the Apocalypse.”

“I did, asshat. I’m firmly on Team Don’t-Allow-Creation-to-Burn, now. But the Apocalypse we could stop. This Other Michael, he’s comin’ whether we like it or not.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To send you on ahead.”

Dean stood straighter.

“Cas would hate you for that.”

“Fine. But he’d be alive. And so would Sam and so would Bris and so would the remaining vestiges of my little brothers and sisters. So I’m gonna send you on ahead, and you’re gonna open up the Cage, and you’re gonna wait there on your own, and this whole thing will be fixed. Michael can do this by himself, no one else has to get hurt.”

“No,” Dean shook his head at him, “no, I can’t go. I... I can’t do that to Cas. And I can’t go now, I promised I’d—”

“Well ya see," Gabriel said, "the thing is, Dean-o... you don’t really _get_ to say no.”

Dean drew back from him, flinching as if struck.

A self-satisfied smirk peeked through Gabriel’s glower. “You can push against this all you like, but deep down in there you already know how this has to go. You altered the details, but you always knew this was what was gonna have to happen.”

“No." Dean recovered himself and planted his feet. "I won’t do this to Cas—”

“Cas will get over it. He literally has Eternity to forget about your sorry ass. Might not even take all that long, whatever you did to mess with his head will probably right itself once you’re gone.”

“I didn’t do anything to—”

“Yeah, see, if I remember correctly, _you’re_ the one who made him Fall in the first place.”

Dean clenched his jaw, looking down to the floor.

Gabriel shifted on his feet, his voice coming softer, almost sympathetic. “You’ve met my brothers and sisters, you know angels don’t feel what he says he’s feeling. He’s been away from home too long... he’s almost as bad as me now.”

Dean shut his eyes against his words.

“This has to happen, Dean. Heaven isn’t coming to help, Hell isn’t coming to help. Sam told me what you saw in that shit-show of another dimension, is that what you want for here?"

Dean didn't answer.

“But sure, I guess you have a choice. Domestic bliss until this Other Michael shows up, until he probably does battle with Lucifer, until they wipe half the planet clean during that and finishes the job after— Or. You save the world."

Dean still didn't answer.

“Go on, Dean, tell me that you’re gonna put innocent people behind your little crush," Gabriel snarled. "Tell me that it’s fine that millions will die because _you_ wouldn’t pull the damned trigger.”

Dean could feel he was shaking, holding his arms tight at his sides as his fists clenched once again.

For a second there he’d thought he could escape it, thought he could shove it all aside, blinded by some sort of twisted hope that he could actually take control of his life. But it didn’t matter what he wanted. It never had. He was never going reach it.

He wasn’t meant to.

“Okay,” he said.

Gabriel appeared next to him, placing a hand on his right shoulder as he held out his open palm, offering the Rings to Dean. He took them and placed them back in his pocket.

“If it helps,” Gabriel said, “I’m well aware this is a rotten deal.”

“It doesn’t,” Dean answered. “But… could I still take the car? I… I’d like to take her out again, in case... in case this is it.”

Gabriel nodded, and with a soft rush of wings...

They left.

 

———

 

**knock knock knock**

 

“Dean? Hey, Dean, we think we got something!”

 

“...Dean?”

 

———

 

 _“How I wish I told a different tale,_  
_Like we chased the light and this love prevailed,_  
_But his blood went cold and his skin went pale,_  
_She got a letter in the mail,_ _  
Said: ‘I'm doin’ you a favor, doin’ you a favor’,_

 _Said: ‘If I were you, I wouldn't love me neither’,_  
_Said: ‘If I were you’ (‘If I were you’)  
Said: ‘If I were you, I wouldn't love me neither.’”_


	19. Chapter 19

 

Sam held his phone to his ear as he poured through the pile of books on the table— everything on angels, malachim, devas, tenshi— Sam intended to leave no stone unturned on this.

Bris grunted behind him, and a second later, a huge tome landed on the table.

“Thanks,” Sam reached for the book, but Bris swatted his hand away.

“I got this, you keep on there.”

Sam managed a chuff through a fleeting smile, and gave her a quick kiss to the top of her head.

His call went to voicemail. Again. He scoffed at his phone and dropped it to the table.

“She still ain’t answerin’?”

“No,” Sam sighed, “I must’ve called Rowena a hundred times now, even tried Crowley, but yeah, nobody’s answering down there.” He shook his head and planted his palms on the table. “Guess we shouldn’t be surprised. But usually they’ll answer at least _once_ to tell us to fuck off.”

Bris gave him a reassuring touch to his arm. He let himself lean into it for a moment and placed his hand over hers, then returned to his search.

He was quickly so absorbed in it that he almost didn’t notice Cas finally come up from the map room, rushing through the library and heading straight for the hallway. He stopped at Dean’s door, knocked, and entered.

Direl soon followed him up, and joined Sam and Bris at the table. “Any hope _that’ll_ amount to somethin’?” he asked, jerking a thumb after Cas.

“Ten years of their shit tells me no,” said Sam.

Direl grunted in response and fell quiet, and for a long while the only sound in the room came from Sam and Bris’s pages turning.

“So what’re we _actually_ tryin’a find here?” Direl asked, frowning at their spread.

Sam's shoulders tensed and he shut his eyes. “A way to stop Michael,” he gritted.

“Right.” Direl clicked his tongue. “Which one?”

“The Other one!”

 _“Right...”_ Direl pulled one of the books towards him. “Well, ah, I don’t know nothin’ about nothin’, but seems to me there ain’t gonna be any intel on him here.” He met Sam’s incredulous look. “He ain’t _from_ here.”

Sam stared at him.

He slowly turned back to the book in front of him.

Bris carefully reached out a hand, “Darlin’—?”

Sam slammed the book shut. Bris and Direl jumped.

“I’m-sorry-mate-I-only—!”

Sam stepped right up to Direl, grabbed his face in his hands, and planted a kiss straight onto his forehead.

“I— Wha—?”

“You’re right, Direl!” Sam exclaimed, beaming at him, “You're absolutely right! Where’s Gabriel?”

“What? I don’t—”

Before Direl could properly answer, Cas exited Dean’s room, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Cas!” Sam smiled, “Cas, we—!”

But Sam stopped at the sight of his friend, slowly making his way over to the table with his eyes empty and his posture small. Sam’s stomach dropped and he immediately leapt to worry.

Bris got there faster, though. She took one look at Cas's chest and slumped, one hand rising to cover her mouth, “Oh no…” and she moved around the table to go right to Cas, pulling him into a hug.

Cas stiffened at it, his body snapping tight as though he wanted to fight her off, but she only held him tighter and began to run a hand up and down his back. Cas managed to hold out a moment longer before he caved, slumping into the embrace and allowing his head to rest on her shoulder.

Sam and Direl followed Bris over. Sam placed a hand on Cas’s shoulder and looked to Bris in silent question.

She sighed as she continued to rub Cas’s back. *Dean said no,* she mouthed.

*To what?* he mouthed back.

She tossed a look at Cas.

Sam rolled his eyes to the ceiling and curled his lip, biting his tongue against some choice insults for his brother.

They stayed like that a while, Sam keeping an eye on Dean’s door while they comforted Cas. After a few minutes, Cas took a deep breath and straightened up, doing his best to compose himself once again.

“Dean had intended to leave immediately,” he informed them in a voice that was forcibly flat, “but we spoke, and he promised he would wait until morning, to give us the chance to figure something out.” He raised his chin to Sam, perhaps hoping for an update.

“Thanks, Cas, we might need every minute we can get. Our lore doesn't cover other dimensions, but—”

“Then perhaps we should to focus on this one,” Cas accidentally interrupted. “If we can’t fight this Other Michael, maybe we can control ours.”

“Yeah! What if we made Dean stronger?” Direl suggested, “What if we… walled him off or... built him up or—!”

“What? No!” Sam shut him down. “We're not going to make it _easier_ for Dean to do this! He's not doing this!”

“Alright, fine! Sorry, mate!” Direl hurriedly raised his palms.

Cas was still looking to Sam, “But you have another idea.”

“Yeah. I do,” he huffed, and turned to Cas with a lingering look of disapproval at Direl. “Cas, our lore doesn’t cover that dimension, but it doesn’t have to. I’m thinking we take this fight to them. We finish the spell for that portal and we get into to that dimension first.” Cas perked up at Sam’s returning excitement. “They have weapons that work against their angels there, specialized bullets and guns, we know where Michael’s gonna be, we can intercept him, and all we need is grace from Gabriel! Dean doesn’t have to do this, Cas, we’ve got another way, we always did!”

“Well fuck, that’s a plan!” Direl declared. He looked around, “So where is the ludder?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

They split up, calling out for Gabriel. Sam sent a quick prayer his way as he knocked on Dean’s door, carefully opening it when he received no response.

“Dean? Hey, Dean, we think we got something!”

But his room was empty.

“...Dean?”

The sheets were pulled back and a packed duffel was on one side of the bed, but Dean was nowhere to be found in his room.

“Fuck—”

Sam rushed out into the hall. “Guys?” he shouted, “Anyone know where Dean is?”

Calling out both names now, they dashed from room to room, to the showers, to Dean’s man-cave, back into the kitchen—

“Sam, yer car’s missin’!” Direl shouted as he and Bris came running back up the hallway.

“What?”

“Yer damned boat of a car ain’t in it’s spot!”

“How—? Nobody left his room since Cas!”

“Maybe someone took him?” Direl shrugged.

“What? Who would would take Dean? Who could even get in here to take Dean?”

“Maybe Gabriel—”

 _“No,”_ Bris cut him off, “no, it weren’t Gabriel—”

“Well then where is he?” Direl spread his palms.

“Hidin’? Playin’ a bad prank?” Bris tried. “Maybe Lucifer came back.”

“The alarms woulda gone off—”

The rustle of feathers down the hall drew their attention.

“Gabriel!” Sam called out.

He turned to face him. “Oh— Hey, guys—”

“Gabriel, have you seen Dean?”

He scoffed and scrunched his nose. “I do my best not to.”

*Shit!* Sam looked around the hall helplessly, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand, why would he—”

“Are you really surprised?”

They turned to see Ketch, standing cooly in a doorway.

He raised an eyebrow at them, “You didn’t think your big hero was going to take it upon himself to spare you his pain? It’s what he _does._ He’s a well-trained _grunt._ He shuts his mouth and gets the job d—”

Ketch was halted by Sam’s fist in the front of his shirt.

“You wanna try that again, Ketch?” Sam growled in his face.

Ketch’s eyes flicked to the group behind him. *You’re putting on an excellent show for your birds there, Sam—*

Sam pushed him harder into the doorframe, pinning him as much with his glare as his hands.

But Ketch just glared right back, *Perhaps you’ve forgotten our little arrangement.*

*I fucking remem—*

*You want Dean to hear about all the training you’ve been doing? How you’ve been helping Rowena behind his back? That’ll be quite the stress for him when you bring him back, as I’m sure you intend to do.*

Sam fell silent again, eyes narrowing in contempt.

He released Ketch’s shirt.

“Get out of my sight.”

“Gladly.”

Ketch entered the room they were standing in front of, and shut the door.

Sam took a moment to take a breath, turn around, and return to the problem at hand.

“Gabriel, would you be able to find where Dean went?”

“What? Of course not! I’m not a _bloodhound.”_

Sam sighed. “Then we have to get down to that park, down to Quitaque.”

“Now wait a minute, Sam—”

“You think he left?” Cas approached them now, from the other end of the hall.

Sam heart broke at the disappointment already building in Cas’s eyes. “The car is gone, Cas.”

Cas froze. He held his gaze on Sam, as if waiting for him to say something else, or maybe take it back. But Sam could only put as much of an apology on his face as he could.

“No. He promised,” Cas shook his head.

“Yeah. He did. And we’re gonna kick his ass twenty different ways for this, but first we gotta find him.” Sam turned back to Gabriel, “Would you be able to take us down to Texas?”

“What _all_ of you?” Gabriel balked. “I don’t have that kind of juice, Sam.”

“Then just me?” He raised a hand at the protests that garnered.

“I—” Gabriel’s eyes flicked away. “No, it’s too far.”

“Then part of the way. Gabriel, please, I can’t reach Rowena, this is the one fucking spell I can’t do—”

“But Sam—”

“He’s got a head start! We have to catch up to—!”

“No you don’t!”

Sam drew back. “What?”

Gabriel straightened and stood his ground. “Sam, he left because he wants to go. He made his decision.”

“What?” Sam repeated. “No— What? Dean doesn’t _want_ to give himself to Michael!”

“Of course he does! You heard him, he said so himself out in the—”

“He doesn’t _want_ to, he thinks he _has_ to!”

 _“Well he does!”_ Gabriel stepped forward.  _“So what_ if he went off without us? We’re all better off for it!”

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but Cas shoved him aside, snatching up Gabriel by the lapels and hauling him close.

_*What did you say to him, Gabriel?*_

If Sam didn’t know better, he’d say that Gabriel actually looked… a little scared of Cas. “I didn’t say anything!” he insisted. “You all heard Lucifer—”

 _“Oi,_  now!Lay off!” Bris rushed forward and tried to shove Cas off of Gabriel. He didn’t budge. “He says he didn’t say nothin’, Cas, so back off!”

Cas glanced at her and back to Gabriel.

He released his hold and allowed himself to be pushed back, not breaking eye contact with Gabriel. The air practically crackled around them, goosebumps rose on Sam’s skin.

“Come on,” he said, breaking the tension in the overcrowded hall, “we’re taking another car.”

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

The gas station wasn’t busy, maybe two other cars sitting at the other pumps. Not that Dean noticed them.

He had come here to fill up, yes, but there was something else weighing on his mind. Once the tank was full, he parked the car at the little convenience store and walked around to the back.

He pulled out his phone, but he stopped, staring at it.

He should call him.

He almost put his phone back, but he lifted it up again.

He stared at the contact.

Dean hit the green phone before he could talk himself out of it.

It rang... and it rang... and only now, after how many years of calling him, did Dean realize that was unusual.

 _“Why are you leaving a voicemail?”_ the recording rasped.  _“It’s 2018, send me a bloody text. Or something civil, like a pigeon.”_

**beep**

_“Hey—”_ Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, Crowley.

“I, uh, I know you don’t wanna hear from me. Don’t blame you. I wouldn’t wanna hear from me neither. But, ah,” he swallowed, “but shit’s goin’ down and… Look I just wanna apologize. For everything.

“I know it’s shitty. Waiting until the last second to say anything. But well, guess I’ve never done right by you to start with. So I’m sorry. I was shit. I mean, I’m still shit, but— you know... Fuck, I shouldn’t have even called. Just forget I ever existed and— I dunno, have a nice re-life or whatever. I just— Fuck.”

He hung up.

~~Jesus Christ~~

Shut up

He shoved his phone in his pocket and stalked back to the car, slamming the door and flooring it out of the parking lot back onto what passed for a highway in southern Kansas.

Gabriel hadn’t been able to give him a good head start, the car was just too much to fly with, so Dean had been hauling ass the whole way down. Now though, he forced his hands to relax on the wheel and pulled his foot back from the gas. Getting pulled over wasn’t gonna help anything, and he didn’t have time to deal with some podunk-cop trying to meet a quota. He just… he needed to calm down.

Dean flipped on the radio.

 _“—There are things we can do,_  
_But from the things that work there are only two,_  
_And from the two that we choose to do,_ _  
Peace will win and fear will lose—”_

 _“God_ no.”

Dean jabbed the power button on the radio and reached a hand into his box of tapes. With a quick glance at the title, Dean slipped in what he wanted to play.

That perfectly familiar guitar line gently flowed from the speakers, like a creek in a quiet wood, every pick and every slide of Jimmy Page’s fingers precisely known to him... The floating flute followed, right on time as always, drifting easily into every corner of him, effortlessly melting what was left of his frustrations in time for Robert Plant to greet him...

 _“There’s a lady who’s sure,_  
_All that glitters is gold,_  
_And she’s buying the stairway to heaven._  
_When she gets there she knows,_  
_If the stores are all closed,_ _  
With a word she can get what she came for…”_

“Yeah…” Dean sighed, “that’s better.”

He relaxed into his seat and pulled out his phone. In as clear of a state of mind as he could be right now, he typed up some messages meant for Sam and Cas. But he didn’t send them right away. He remembered fondly how Claire had once shown him all the fancy features on this most recent smartphone, and scheduled the messages to be delivered tomorrow evening, enough time for this to be finished and Dean could delete them before they sent, or for this to be finished and the messages delivered well after the danger had passed.

He tucked his phone into his pocket and returned his full focus to the road, gladly losing himself to the music for the next few hours.

 

He didn’t know his messages wouldn’t be delivered for months.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Sam, Bris, Cas, and Gabriel were squeezed into a sedan Sam had stolen from town. Direl had elected to stay behind on the off chance they were wrong and Dean had just gone on some kind of impromptu _liquor run_ or something.

Sam had _intended_ for them to take one of the plethora of cars in the bunker’s garage, but for some reason every last one of them was out of gas. Sam had cursed himself for allowing them to be caught unprepared. Cas had shot scathing looks at Gabriel.

Now they were speeding down the highway in heavy silence, only eased by the radio Cas had asked to be turned on.

 _“Crossroads... seem to come and gooo, yeah,_  
_The gypsy flies from coast to cooaast,_  
_Knowing many, loving none,_  
_Bearing sorrow, having fun,_  
_But back home he’ll always run,_ _  
To sweet Melissa,”_

Cas shut his eyes, leaning his head against the window to take solace in the chill of the glass against his skin. He noticed Gabriel giving him an odd look, and chose to ignore it.

Cas found himself easily soothed by the song at hand. It was fairly straightforward in its lyrics and the sound was smooth, the singer crooning to him over simple instrumentation.

Then again, as the song went on, Cas did wish he could ask for Dean’s assistance in translating the few turns of phrase that he didn’t—

And just like that the song wasn’t so comforting.

Sam seemed to agree with him.

“I just don’t understand.”

Bris turned to him, sympathy in her eyes, “Don’t understand what, love?”

“I don’t understand why. I don’t understand how. I don’t understand where I went wrong.”

 _“Freight train... each car looks the saaame, all the same,_  
_And no one knows the gypsy's name,_  
_And no one hears his lonely sighs,_  
_There are no blankets where he lies,_  
_Lord, in his deepest dreams the gypsy flies,_ _  
With sweet Melissa,”_

“We shouldn't have left Dean alone,” Sam said to Bris, his voice tight and angry. “We should have watched him, we should have watched the garage—”

“We couldn’t’a known he were gonna run off—”

“But we did!” Sam burst, his hand slamming on the steering wheel. “This is exactly what he did before! Just— God _damn_ it!”

“Before?” Bris asked quietly.

“The last time we went through this.”

Cas tilted his face down and pressed harder into the window. How could he forget.

Of course back then, Cas only had to stretch his wings and he could be there to stop Dean. But now…

 _“Again, the mornin's come,_  
_Again, he's on the run,_  
_A sunbeam's shinin' through his hair,_  
_Appearing not to have a care,_  
_Well, pick up your gear and gypsy roll on,_ _  
Roooll on,”_

“We got seven more hours, love, you've gotta keep calm until then.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “I just— I fucked up here and I don't understand how.”

Bris placed a hand on his thigh. “We’ll get him, _a_ _chroi,_ we’re not too far behind,” she reassured him.

Cas held back his own sigh, wanting nothing more than to be able to buy into the hope she held out for them. As the car went quiet again, he tried to sink back into the music, asking it to carry him to a place of calm for the time being.

 _“Crossroads... will you ever let him go?_  
_Lord, Lord,_  
_Or will you hide the dead man's ghost?_  
_Or will he lie, beneath the clay?_  
_Or will his spirit float away?_  
_But I know that he won't staaay,  
__Without Melissa,_  

 _Yes, I know that he won't stay-y-ay, yeah,  
_ _Without Melissa.”_

 


	20. Bottom of the River

**Bottom of The River**

_[If you don’t mind,_ [ _please click this link and allow to play in the background a la Bris’s scene in Part 3_](https://www.pandora.com/artist/delta-rae/bottom-of-the-river/bottom-of-the-river/TRlpmJpgdlc9ldq?corr=17177488&part=ug) _. If you do mind,_ _[you can find the full lyrics here](https://genius.com/Delta-rae-bottom-of-the-river-lyrics)._ _]_

 

Dean made it to Quitaque in just the time he expected. Not early. Not late.

He turned north from the little town toward the State Park, easily finding and heading up a tiny access road that ran along the bottom of the main canyon. When he got as close as the road could take him to his final destination, he pulled off, tires crunching into the rocky soil.

Dean shut the car off, cutting the headlights that had been piercing through the dark, and took a moment to just sit and collect himself. When that didn’t work he reached into his pocket and pulled out his little plastic bottle. With a practiced ease he swallowed his last two pills dry, tucking the bottle away again in his jacket pocket.

The wind whipped at him as he got out. He ducked back inside momentarily to double-check the map Gabriel had marked for him, and then, taking only an angel blade with him, he went to step away from the car.

But he paused.

He pulled his keys from his pocket, and placed them on the dashboard.

The trek wasn’t far, but it was arduous. This wasn’t a path meant to be taken by the regular hikers of the park. The scrub was dense, where the rock wasn’t loose it was smooth, and while the slope started out manageable, it quickly became steep, almost vertical. He climbed slowly, slipping and scrabbling, his head swimming in a cloud of his own design. His scraped hands tugged his jacket closer in a wasted attempt to stave off the chill that hung above the bare dirt in this twilight before sunrise.

Panting as he pulled himself over the edge, Dean finally made it to the place Gabriel had indicated, an open field atop one of the ledges above the canyon.

At another time, Dean would have certainly found this a beautiful sight; the red rock, dark in the pre-dawn light, contrasting sharply with the thin white coating of snow left the night before by a winter finally arrived. Bare shrubs dotted the canyon, and Dean wondered how they might look in the summer, all green and flushed and rustling in the wind, but he couldn’t quite picture it.

There was no rush of wings to announce Lucifer’s arrival, just a set of footsteps approaching on the hard earth. Dean didn’t turn to greet him.

The two men faced east to watch the sun rise over the jagged, cut landscape. The light picked at the highest points on the canyon walls, but wouldn’t reach the bottom for hours, if at all.

“You know… I could watch this for eons.”

Dean still didn’t turn to face Lucifer, just continued to watch the light creep down the rough slopes.

“You should have seen it before you got here. You humans. It was perfect. It was complete.”

Something moved along the base of the opposite canyon face, a snake slinking through the underbrush.

“Then you came in from the west, and from the north, and you killed, and you burned, and you stuck yourself into the workings of this continent the same as you did all the others. Then more came in from the east, and you killed, and you plundered. You just couldn’t leave well enough alone. Tried to tell Dad. Tried to tell everyone how awful you little cretins were going to be, but would anyone listen to me?”

He turned to face west, where the sun would later set over flat farm fields stretching far off into the horizon, beyond the reaching cracks of the splintered canyons. A frown pulled his face taught.

“Now look what you’ve done. You’re worse than worthless. You’re mindless. You’re savage. You’ve never done a good thing for Creation in all this ti—”

“Can we jus’ get on with this?”

Lucifer snapped to Dean, pure hatred shooting from his eyes. But Dean didn’t react, just looked out over the red expanse and waited.

“Fine,” Lucifer spat. He looked up at the sky. Dark gray clouds were gathering above them. As Dean followed his gaze, a streak of lightning silently crackled through them.

"He’ll be here soon," Lucifer said. "Is it too much to hope you thought to bring the key to the dungeon?"

Returning his gaze to the rocks below, Dean reached into his pocket and produced the Rings of the Four Horsemen.

“Finally, something you did _right.”_

Dean clenched his fist tight around the rings.

“Well… give them here.”

Dean scoffed. “How stupid d’you think I am?”

“Very. But that’s beside the point. You won’t be able to open the Cage correctly. All you know how to do is shove things in, but I can work it to let things _out.”_

Dean quietly sighed, letting it drag long and hollow. He turned from the vista before him to finally face Lucifer, and dropped the four loose rings into the Devil’s waiting palm.

“What…?” Lucifer brought his hand up to inspect them. “Why are they… What did you do to them?” He picked up the ring with the large white stone.  _“Ugh,_ that’s _right._ You idiots killed Death.”

Dean heart stopped and he froze, staring at the evidently inert ring in Lucifer’s fingers.

 _“Tch,_ typical. Looks I’ll have to do some _patchwork.”_ Lucifer sighed louder than necessary. “Here I am, as always, fixing your _ridiculous_ messes!”

He looked somewhere over Dean’s shoulder, “Hey, you, c’mere.”

Dean turned around, but saw no one. “Umm…”

“Yeah, I know you’re there, princess, get over here.”

Dean continued to search, but he had no idea who Lucifer was talking—

“Oh no you don’t!” Lucifer’s hand shot up and clenched into a fist.

He pulled back sharply and a woman appeared, stumbling into the space behind Dean.

 _“Aww,_ that’s almost _cute,”_ Lucifer cooed, “thinking you can hide from me. Spoiler alert, honey, I’m in charge of Heaven, and _you’re_ still an angel.”

The woman jerked upright, falling a step back—

 _“Ohh,_ nuh-uh-uh,” Lucifer pulled his fist again, jerking the woman where she stood as he tapped his temple, “you won’t be calling for help, sweetie.”

He pulled the woman forward and caught her by the shoulder, and in one motion a blade appeared in his other hand and slashed across her throat. The woman gasped and choked, struggling in his hold as her grace spilled from her neck.

Lucifer held the defunct ring up to the cascade of smoky energy. “Quit _complaining,”_ he chided, “if you didn’t want something like this to happen you shouldn’t have been waiting on a Winchester in the first place.”

When the ring shone bright with her stolen light, Lucifer must have deemed his work complete because he released her shoulder, allowed her only a moment to sway on her feet, and then, almost as an afterthought, ran his blade through her heart.

She screamed and Dean jumped back as she fell to the ground, her eyes flickering with the last whisps of her essence and finally going cold, staring up at nothing. Dean stared back and forth between her body and Lucifer.

“Yeah, well, maybe if the Reapers had agreed to help out with this I’d have been a little nicer,” he answered as he arranged the rings in his hand to form the key. “As it is…”

Lucifer snapped his fingers and all around them an army was revealed. Maybe two hundred people, some in gray, some in black, and some still dressed in whatever their vessel had been wearing when they were snatched up.

“...all I have is this. The last of my brothers and sisters and the demons still loyal to me in Hell.” He snapped again, and the crowd vanished.

Lucifer moved away from the cliff edge and tossed the Rings to the ground. He turned back to Dean, raising an eyebrow at the look on his face. “What, you thought I would come here _alone?”_

Dean mentally kicked himself. He honestly hadn't even given that a passing thought, caught up as he was in his own bullshit.

Lucifer just smirked at Dean’s silent distress and turned away from him again. He began to speak over the Rings, reciting a spell in Enochian that Dean wouldn't have understood even if he had been able to process it.

He felt it before he saw it. The earth began to rumble deep beneath them, building to the point that Dean had to spread his arms to avoid being thrown on his ass. Just when he thought the whole cliff would surely collapse, the ground suddenly dipped and fractured, tearing more like a putty stretched to its limits than rock. As it opened, instead of the sucking that Dean remembered, the vacuum of noise that after all these years still haunted his dreams, scorching air blasted from the hole, vaporizing the snow around it and spraying forth gravel and rocks so that Dean had to raise an arm against it.

“Dean!”

His blood ran cold as he spun at that voice.

No… No he couldn’t be—

Sam hoisted himself over the cliff and broke into a run, “Dean, wait!”

Two angels materialized and grabbed Sam by the arms, halting him in his tracks. He shouted out and struggled against them, but their hold was fast.

“Let him go!”

The angels spun back at the command, raising a hand against its source, but they froze, and their arms dropped again.

*Gabriel,* they breathed.

Gabriel stared them down. “Let. him. go.”

They released Sam immediately and vanished once more. But before Sam could take off again Gabriel grabbed his arm himself. "Sam, wait!"

“What—? _Gabriel—!”_

Cas and Bris made it over the cliff now. Bris hurried to Sam and Gabriel, but Cas took off past them.

“Damn it, _wait!”_ Gabriel shouted, and locked Cas’s feet to the ground.

 _“What the fuck are you doing?”_ Sam bellowed.  _"Let us go!"_

Dean backed away— They weren’t supposed to be here, they weren’t supposed to see this—

“Nice of you to join the party, guys, you’re just in time!” Lucifer shouted to the newcomers over the rushing air. “Oh no, wait, I meant too late. Way, way too late.”

 _“Dean!”_ Sam called, twisting in Gabriel’s hold. “Dean, we have a plan! There’s another wa—!”

There was an awful sound, a grinding from deep beneath the earth, mounting to such a level that Dean couldn't hear Sam anymore, couldn’t hear anyone anymore. He turned back to the gaping portal now lit with a sinister orange glow, and his eyes slowly widened, and he saw.

Vast blue light shot from the hole, rising in a roaring, writhing column to the darkening sky above already strained with the coming horror, splitting it anew— rending it, warping it, tearing it asunder with the vast energies spewing forth.

Then the screaming began.

Dean could shut his eyes to the burning light, but he couldn’t stop the screams, the high, crazed cries, far worse than anything Cas had ever bombarded him with on that first day back on Earth. It cut through him and he toppled, falling to his knees as he gnashed his teeth against the tearing, grating, maddening noise.

And from across the field Cas saw this. He could only watch as Sam, Bris, and Dean clutched their ears, doubling over in a desperate bid for relief.

“Your eyes!” Cas screamed at them, “Cover your eyes!”

But there was no way they could hear him now.

All around him, his brothers and sisters were reappearing from where they had hid. Some wept with relief, some in fear, but all had tears falling down their cheeks at this sight. The demons were faring far worse, the divine light searing them where they stood. A few succumbed and were burnt away. Most simply vanished to save their own skins.

Cas flipped back to Gabriel, hoping to find his older brother finally ready to defend their family. But instead he found Gabriel staring into the sky, saw the panic grip his face—

*Father forgive me.*

—and Gabriel vanished.

Before Cas could move from where Gabriel had stopped him, Lucifer appeared beside him, snatching Cas’s arm and yanking him close.  _“Where did he go?”_ he shouted in his face. But Cas had no answer.

A scraping shriek pulled their attention skyward again, and Cas found himself frozen in witness, because now, Cas saw.

There above him was the true form of their eldest brother, attempting to manifest in the physical realm. Spreading there above them all was Michael, great and terrifying as ever, the epitome of Father’s intentions, powerful beyond measure, without bound or limit.

But Cas could see that this wasn’t the Michael he had served under for Time immemorial. This wasn’t even the Michael who had gone into the Pit. This Michael had been shunted away, had languished and festered and _grown._

This Michael wouldn’t stop when the Other Michael was defeated, wouldn't stop if he took out Lucifer. No, this Michael would take everything and then some, as though they had never stopped the Other Michael at all.

Cas Witnessed this. And Cas Knew.

Dean wouldn’t make it through this.

A movement drew his eye back to the ground. Dean was trying to stand, even through the noise and the gale and the pelting gravel, even as his body trembled and shook with the effort, Dean was trying to get up again, trying to get up and face the light.

And Castiel, the Angel of the Lord, looked down upon Dean Winchester kneeling there in the dust, and he didn't see the broken, tired shell of one small human trying desperately to save the world just one more time.

He saw the man he loved, about to sacrifice everything to a solution that would solve nothing.

“Michael!” Cas shouted at the frenetic light above, _“Michael!”_

The focus of his older brother was overpowering. Wild. Agonizing. Yet still truly absolute. But Cas didn’t turn away, because now Cas Knew.

 _This_ was why he was brought back.

This was _always_ why he was brought back.

 

To save Dean.

 

He gave himself to Michael with divine conviction.

 

———

 

The screaming stopped.

Dean cracked his eyes open, looking up from his place on the ground. He lowered his hands from his ears. They’d probably be ringing for days, but he couldn’t care.

Something had gone wrong.

He was still him.

He pushed himself up and searched the sky, but there was nothing to see except the angry clouds that continued to gather, unhindered by the events below.

He looked around him. Sam and Bris were helping each other back to their feet. The angels had reappeared, demons were appearing between them, and they were all facing to where Lucifer now had a hold on Cas.

No… Wait…

That wasn’t Cas.

 

_No_

 

Michael turned Cas’s head to glare at Lucifer, who released his arm at once, “What—”

Michael struck Lucifer to the ground.

 _“You…!”_ Michael raised his fist for another blow.

“Hey-hey-hey!” Lucifer threw up his palms. “Knock around in that new noggin you’ve got, we’ve got bigger fish to fry!”

Michael stopped. He lifted Cas’s chin.

He turned to frown up at the clouds, now flashing furiously with lightning. “Indeed we do. You should have brought me sooner.”

“Yeah. _Tried that.”_

Michael ignored that, his frown cutting deeper into Cas’s face, “You were ruling in Heaven?”

“Fish! Much bigger fish, bro!” Lucifer pointed frantically at the sky.

Michael examined him a moment longer, then turned away, taking in the gathered angels and demons before him.

Something akin to a smile passed over his face.

“Such a convoluted series of events Father has weaved to lead us to fight together once more…” He faced Lucifer, “Where is Gabriel?”

Lucifer slowly got to his feet, still watching Michael carefully. “Give you one guess.”

“He ran.”

“He ran.”

“And Raphael is—?”

“Dead. Yeah.”

Michael looked down at Cas’s body. “I will punish our little brother here severely.”

“Don’t even bother.” Lucifer rolled his eyes. “You can’t do worse than what he does to himself.”

Michael raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’ve been in him, too.” He rolled a finger near his head, “Dude’s nuts on the self-castigation.”

 _“Mm,”_ Michael hummed, and turned from Lucifer again. His gaze fell to Dean. “Well, well.”

Dean reflexively stepped back.

“I almost didn't recognize you there, Dean. You’re...” he raked Cas’s eyes over Dean in a way that made Dean's stomach turn, “smaller and… darker than I remember. Seems you’ve put yourself through quite a lot since I’ve been away.”

Michael brought his gaze back to Dean’s. Dean didn’t answer him.

“Had I only known it was you I _surely_ would have asked you first. After all, according to Castiel, that’s why you’re here in the first place.” He stepped towards Dean—

Michael doubled over and staggered, one arm shooting out to Lucifer for support.

 _*Cast—!*_ Michael gritted, but he snapped his jaw shut. He lifted his face to share a glance with Lucifer.

“This vessel…” Michael started.

“Oh, yeah, should have warned you,” Lucifer grimaced as he helped Michael back to his feet. “Dad fixed that up _special_ for little Cassy.”

“It won’t last long.”

“Huh, _I_ got pretty good mileage out of it...”

Thunder crashed in the clouds above, drawing all their gazes skyward. Beneath the roiling clouds, a yellow-orange light was growing.

“I understand we are to fight another version of myself this day,” Michael lazily slipped his gaze back to Dean, “but I won’t last an entire battle like this. Well—” he spread Cas’s arms, _“he_ certainly won’t.”

“Dean…” came Sam’s voice from somewhere off to his side.

“So you have choices, Dean. You could volunteer yourself as originally intended, or you could watch Castiel disintegrate before your eyes. Or, of course,” he twisted Cas’s lips in a cruel smirk, “I could always kill him now and simply find another willing vessel, and then another, and another...”

Dean clenched his jaw, but he didn't answer.

"I see..." said Michael. "You _were_ always _so_ selfish."

He returned his attention to Lucifer. “I’ll stay as long as I can, and when our little brother burns out I’ll return as soon as possible. We must act quickly—”

“Wait.”

Dean stepped forward.

“Dean, no—!” Sam shouted.

But Lucifer cut him off, tossing him back with a flick of his wrist.

“Sam!” Bris ran back to help him up.

Michael faced Dean fully. “I remember vividly what happened the last time we reached this point, Dean. You left me with your inferior brother. You can’t pull that again.”

Dean clenched his jaw and nodded. “I know.”

“Dean!” Sam shouted again. He started toward him—

Lucifer snapped his attention to Sam, face lined with a scowl. He began stalking toward him, stopping Sam in his tracks.

“Hey!” Dean barked, but an invisible hand turned his face back to Michael.

“Stay focused, Dean.”

Sam stepped back, trying to push Bris behind him, but she was having none of it. She drew the angel blade in her belt and brandished it at Lucifer alongside a raised palm.

_“Stad!”_

Lucifer didn’t even flinch. _“Oh,_ how sweet, Sammy, you brought your pet to work.”

 _“Stad!”_ Bris strained, _“Stad,_ blast it, _stad!_ _”_

Lucifer snapped his fingers and Bris’s voice was cut off.

“Really, Sam, how _do_ you put up with that _nagging?”_

Sam and Bris slowly backed away as he continued to approach. Lucifer raised a hand at them—

And they vanished.

“What—” Lucifer stopped, searching the field. “Where did _he_ go!?”

Michael scoffed. “It would seem Gabriel has developed a soft spot. You’re getting slow in your old age, Brother.”

Thunder ripped through the air again.

Michael turned back, “Time is running out, Dean.”

Dean eyes darted to the scene around him: to the clouds, to where Sam and Bris had been, the surrounding angels and demons, the entrance of the Cage still marring the ground—

“I got one condition,” he said.

Michael considered him with a haughty look. “Yes?”

“Gimme a minute with Cas. Just lemme talk to him and you can have me.”

“And that’s it?”

Dean nodded.

That awful grin spread on Cas’s face again.

“I accept your condition.”

Cas’s body shuddered. He shook his head and blinked.

His eyes snapped up to Dean.

“Dean—?”

“Cas!” Dean ran to him, grasping his shoulders.

“Dean, what are you doing? You should have left by—”

“He’s gonna kill you if he stays in you, Cas!”

“What? No that can’t—” Cas looked down at his body then up to the clouds above. “That doesn’t matter, Dean, you have to find Sam—”

“What? Of course that matters!” Dean shook him, snapping his attention back.  _“Of course that matters, Cas!”_

“There’s no time, Dean—”

“No, Cas, you can’t— We could—” Dean’s eyes darted over Cas. “The Cage 's right there, we could start up the portal, we could put him back or—”

Cas cried out and doubled over. Dean’s hands scrambled to bring him back up. “I’m not— I thought— I can hold him in but I can’t—”

Cas’s eyes fell to the angel blade tucked in Dean’s belt.

Dean followed his look and nearly gagged, “No, Cas, no—”

“You can kill him, Dean, you can end this right—”

“No!” Dean’s fingers slipped as he tried to grasp Cas’s coat tighter, “No, Cas, please, just kick him out or something! Cas, _please—”_

“Dean, I know now. This is what I was brought back for. This was a mistake but I can stop this, I can _fix_ this, I can protect you—”

“No, _no,_ Cas, _no!_ That’s not—! _No,_ Cas—!”

“Then push me in the Pit!” Cas cried, his eyes jumping to the clouds. “Sam has another plan, we don’t need Michael! Just let me go, Dean—!”

“I _can’t!”_

Dean grabbed his face in his hands, “Cas, I _can’t!_ I can’t do that again, I can’t lose you again! I can’t lose you _aga-in!”_ his voice cracked. “Cas, I _can’t_ — I need you to be safe! I need you to be okay! I— I need— _Damn it!”_

Dean fell into Cas, meeting him in a crash of surprise and desperation. Dean kissed Cas with everything he had left; everything he couldn’t say, everything he couldn’t do.

And for one goddamned moment, everything else finally fell away— Michael, the rift, the angels, the demons, the _haze,_ the _pain,_ the _ache_ —  for one  _goddamned_ moment, Dean finally felt...  _right._

He pulled back, gripping the back of Cas’s neck to steady himself, pressing his forehead into his.

“I need _you,_ Cas.”

Dean opened his eyes, his vision blurred with spilling tears, but still filled with nothing but Cas.

“Dean, I—”

Cas stopped.

Dean drew back far enough to search his eyes. Wet tracks cut down Cas’s face. 

But he wasn’t reaching for him.

He wasn’t saying it back.

He hadn’t kissed him back.

_He wasn’t saying it back._

 

Oh

 

“I’m—” Dean jerked his hands from Cas. “I’m so sorry— You don’t—”

“Dean—”

“I’m sorry—” His eyes darted, and the pain returned. “I didn’t mean to—” His hands shook, and the ground fell away. “You— you don’t—”

He stepped back, and  _all_ of it came roaring back.

_“Dean—!”_

“ ~~Yes~~.”

_“NO!”_

Cas’s head was thrown back and Michael burst from him in a fountain of sharp blue light. He rocketed between them and Dean stumbled back, falling to the ground. His head was pulled up by invisible hands, hundreds of hands, hands all over his body. He tried to screw his eyes shut but they were torn open. He tried to raise an arm but it was held back—

Wait

The light was above him, blue and bright and blinding and—

Wait, please

He was forced open, his very soul was opened. It was fire and it was ice, it was _lightning_ and it was pain. It was everything. Everything at the same time. It was so much— It was too much—

Wait!

He screamed.

Please!

He screamed. But no one could hear it.

 

Please, wait, _no!_

 

———

 

Cas pushed himself up from where he’d fallen to the ground. Wild, turbulent winds whipped the exposed soil, assailing him as he slowly came back to himself.

Someone ran up and roughly grabbed at him, shaking his shoulders and trying to pull him up from his knees. It roused him enough to blearily look up.

“Cas!” Sam’s voice called from a million miles away, “Cas, come on, get up!”

But Cas didn’t listen. He barely even heard. He was frozen, his hair flying wildly as he watched the godsrays streaking through the cloud of dust where Dean must be.

Dean must be—

The light dimmed behind the cloud and great shadows spread, a tiered set of silhouetted wings stretching out, reaching further than any they had ever seen before.

Then the light faded entirely. The dust cleared. And Dean… no… Michael stood.

 _“Finally,”_ Michael purred in Dean's voice, flexing his hands. “Finally! I have waited _so long…”_ He tried to raise his arms—

Frowning, he lowered them and picked at Dean’s jacket. Michael removed it and the flannel beneath and dropped them to the ground.

He stretched Dean’s arms high above his head.  _“Ohhh, yes…”_ he groaned, popping his neck and rolling his shoulders. “Just as perfect as I—"

A puzzled look eclipsed his face.

“What is that _awful_ flavor?” He inspected Dean’s hands. “It’s almost as though…”

His eyes flashed with that sharp light and blue lines lit with grace. Scattered all across Dean’s body— straight and jagged, thick and thin— hundreds of lines criss-crossed his skin.

“Castiel, have you… have you been giving this human your grace?” he grimaced. “Disgusting.”

His eyes flared and Castiel’s grace was burned from Dean’s body. Where those lines had flashed, scars appeared anew like spider webs across Dean’s skin.

“And what is…?” Michael pulled up Dean’s shirt sleeve. A handprint, red and angry as he day it was burned into Dean’s bicep, had reappeared.

“And…” He looked down at Dean’s chest, a hand rising to trace across it, right to left.  _“What_ have you inscribed on these ribs?”

His lips moved soundlessly with the words, his newly-scared face darkening as he read.

“Have you no _shame?”_ he balked, the revulsion jarring in Dean’s voice. “What would Father say?”

With tears falling down his face, Castiel could only collapse further.

“You will be dealt with when this is over,” Michael warned.

He turned away, leaving Castiel broken and sinking on the ground.

Michael looked skyward to the clouds, where a rift had begun to open.

 _“Come, my brothers and sisters,”_ he boomed with a voice made of thousands, the sound echoing in their ears.

And with a great beat of his wings, he vanished.

Michael was gone.

Dean was gone.

 

———

 

Sam stared at the spot where his brother had stood just a moment ago.

Dean had—

Because Cas had—

A bolt flashed through the clouds, followed by a great crash, snapping Sam’s attention skyward. Sparks and waves of grace were flying through the air surrounding the rift.

“Cas, we have to get out of here!” Sam pulled on Cas’s arm.

Castiel only wobbled slightly with the tug. He stared at the ground, hands dragging in the dirt.

_“Cas!”_

The sky was alight with holy fire. Blues and reds and yellows sliced the air itself. There was no way to see who was who, certainly no way to see who was winning.

Sam looked around helplessly. There was nothing here. There was nothing but him and Cas. Nothing but grass and rocks and dirt and—

Dean’s jacket was on the ground a short distance away. Sam scrambled to snatch it up and return to Cas.

“Cas, _please,_ we have to go!” He gripped his shoulders and shook him harshly.

Castiel tilted his head a degree toward him.

“Yeah! Yeah, come on, Cas, it’s me! I made it back, now come on, we have to get you out of here!”

He managed to haul Cas to his feet, pulling his arm around his shoulders and half-dragging him back down the canyon to the cars. Thunder and explosions vibrated around them through the air and the ground alike.

Sam opened the passenger door of the Impala and dropped Cas inside. Fortunately he managed to pull himself into the seat.

Sam rounded the car, frantically patting Dean’s jacket pockets for the keys, but all he found was an empty pill bottle. He tossed it through the open back window and slid into the driver’s seat, leaning down to search for the wires he’d need, bracing himself on—

His hand brushed against Dean’s keys on the dashboard.

“God… what the fuck, Dean,” Sam sighed as he snatched up the keys Dean had left for him to find.

With shaking hands, he started the car and floored it.

 

———

 

The outside world whipped past in an indiscernible blur as Sam flew down the road. He’d found the highway on the other side of the park and was heading north. Or was he going east? All he knew was that they had to get as far away from that shit show as fast as possible.

He tried to clear his mind. He had to. If he didn’t he’d probably run straight off the rails right now. Thinking about what Dean had just done… what Gabriel had done… god, what _Bris_ had just pulled! How could she have—

_“He thinks—”_

Cas’s voice startled Sam, ragged and grating as if cut with glass.

“...Dean thought…”

Sam reached a hand out to Cas. He shrank from it. Sam pulled back.

“Michael held my voice.”

Sam’s grip tightened on the wheel.

“He held my voice. He held my hands. He tricked him. Dean thought—” he sniffed, “Dean _thou-ght—”_ his voice cracked over a broken sob.

Sam stared out at the road. He had to.

Castiel’s head dropped into his hands, his shoulders shaking with ragged breath.

Sam turned the wheel through a curve and became aware of something in his lap. He looked down to see Dean’s jacket, shoved hastily between himself and the steering wheel.

“We’re gonna get him back,” Sam said.

Castiel looked up.

Sam was holding out Dean’s jacket to him, still staring out at the road.

“We’re gonna get him back, Cas,” Sam decided.

Castiel reached with trembling hands to take the jacket. He held it loosely in his lap. One sleeve unrolled and fell off to the side.

“We’re gonna get him back,” Sam promised.

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

 _We used to say... that come the day..._  
_We'd all be making songs..._  
_Or finding better words,_  
_These ideas never lasted long,_

 _The way is up... along the road..._  
_The air is growing thin..._  
_Too many friends who tried,_  
_Blown off this mountain with the wind,_

 _Meet on the ledge, we're gonna meet on the ledge,_  
_When my time is up I'll see all my friends,_  
_Meet on the ledge, we're gonna meet on the ledge,_  
_If you really mean it, it all comes round again,_

 _Now I see... I'm all alone..._  
_That's the only way to be..._  
_You'll have your chance again,_  
_Then you can do the work for me,_

 _Meet on the ledge, we're gonna meet on the ledge,_  
_When my time is up I'll see all my friends,_  
_Meet on the ledge, we're gonna meet on the ledge,_  
_If you really mean it, it all comes round again,_

 _Meet on the ledge, we're gonna meet on the ledge,_  
_When my time is up I'll see all my friends,_  
_Meet on the ledge, we're gonna meet on the ledge,_  
_If you really mean it, it all comes round again,_

 _We're gonna meet... on the ledge... on the ledge,_  
_All comes round again,_  
_We're gonna meet on the ledge_


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I beg of you, if you click no other music link in my series, please listen to this one if you can.

Castiel stood in Dean's room.

His sheets were still pushed to the side. His duffel was still sitting on the corner. His sweatpants were still draped over the end of the bed, waiting to be grabbed tonight.

Castiel clutched the jacket in his arms closer.

Something hard and flat met his hand through the leather. With a fresh pang through his chest, Castiel reached into the pocket; after all, they might need Dean's phone for—

It wasn't Dean's phone.

He pulled it out of the pocket.

It was a tape.

Guilt crashed into Castiel. He'd never asked Dean about the mixtape he had made for him. Sam had been so insistent… but now it was— it was—

Too late.

Castiel flipped the tape over in his hands. It was black, like the other one. But this tape, labeled with Dean's familiar, neat handwriting, had a much shorter title:

**For Cas**

His knees almost gave out. Like a shot to the gut the sheer pain was overwhelming.

But out of the pain grew something else:

Purpose. A task.

“Sam?”

Castiel left Dean's room and entered the library, his step quickening and his voice rising with insistence.

“Sam!? _Sam!?_ ”

Sam stood from his seat at the table, crossing the library to meet him. “What is it, Cas?” he asked, undue hope flitting on his face.

Castiel held up the tape. Sam read the label. His eyes fell soft as he pressed his lips together.

“Cas… I don't think we have a—” He stopped. “Come on.”

Sam led Castiel down the hall, through a door, down the stairs—

To the garage.

Not needing an explanation, Castiel opened Baby’s passenger door and slid into the front seat. Sam reached through the open driver’s window and flipped the key in the ignition to power the stereo.

Castiel inserted the tape. Warm static signaled it starting.

“Do you want me to leave, Cas?”

Castiel didn't answer, all his focus given to listening.

Sam turned and left him, but stayed just inside the doorway that led back upstairs.

Finally, the tape reached its beginning [ and an acoustic guitar, a small, gentle sound in the cavernous garage, walked in... ](https://www.pandora.com/artist/the-avett-brothers/true-sadness/i-wish-i-was/TRfff5dqlpc6gz6)

 

 _“I wish I was a flame, dancin’ in a candle,_  
_Lightin’ up your livin’ room, high on the mantle,_  
_I could bring some romance without any scandal,_ _  
And then when you were done, you'd just put me out,_

 _I wish I was a tune, you sang in your kitchen,_  
_Putting your groceries away, and washin’ your dishes,_  
_I could float around your tongue and ease the tension,_ _  
And then when you were done, you'd just quiet down,_

 _But if I get too close,_  
_Will the magic fade?_  
_Would I turn you off or away?_  
_If I pull you in,_  
_Would I push you out,_  
_Of somethin’ here you care about?_  
_I'm at a loss, for what to do,_ _  
I'm drawn to you,_

 _I wish I was a sweater, wrapped around your hips,_  
_And when it got too cold, into me you'd slip,_  
_And when the sun came back you would hang me up,_ _  
And I would watch you, while you undress,_

 _But if I get too close,_  
_Will the magic fade?_  
_Would I turn you off or away?_  
_If I pull you in,_  
_Now would I push you out,_  
_Of somethin’ here you care about?_  
_Well I'm at a loss, for what to do,_ _  
But I'm drawn to you,_

 

 _I'm not a song,_  
_I’m not a sweater,_  
_I'm not a fire,_  
_I’m somethin’ better,_ _  
I'm a man in love, writin’ you a letter,_

 _Will you take it?_  
_Will you keep it?_  
_Will you read it?_ _  
Believe it?_

_I love you,_

_I'm sorry.”_

 

The warm static returned, the only sound in the garage.

That was the only song on the tape.

Something landed on Sam's folded arms. He reached up and hastily wiped away his tears.

_You ass. That wasn't for you._

From where Sam still stood, he couldn't hear Cas, but he could see his head fall into his hands, and his shoulders start to shiver.

Before he could decide whether he should go to Cas or pretend he was never there, Cas shifted in the seat. Sam heard the click of the tape deck, and the static started again, and then, the guitar followed.

Sam left. He had already intruded enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["End Credits"](https://www.pandora.com/playlist/PL:281475008954374:1717646628) Playlist  
>  ***  
> Well. Hello friends.  
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this Part and that it was worth the wait.  
> Part of me wants to apologize for the hurt, but the other part of me will simply direct you to the next chapter here which contains a recommendation list I whipped up with some fluffy pieces and a little crack comic/gif that UnfortunatelyObsessed made. 
> 
> The next piece will be a ficlet discussing what was up with Gabriel while he was missing and will contain answers for how the heck Sam got back to the fight. Then after that will be Part Six, the conclusion to this plot arc.
> 
> -And here is my evergreen request that if you liked this piece, please share it, or share the series. My only wish is that as many people can read this as possible.
> 
> -And a PSA that if you want updates you're gonna want to subscribe to the *series* or to me as an author, not just to this one work.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading. I know investing in a WIP is a risky move, so thank you, all of you, for choosing this story and sticking with it so far. You're all wonderful and you keep me writing. <3 <3 <3


	22. Extra Things

Some fic recs for cheering you up after that:

Need something so adorable you could die?

> "[Little Star](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13493984/chapters/30945550)" by secret_samadhi

Or maybe a fic that is the literal embodiment of 'Jesus Christ just  _kiss already!'_?

> "[He's my bestfriend but I love him ... Fuck.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171508/chapters/2385649)" by TheBeastsWrite (orphan_account)

Would you like to know what this Author thinks is written on Dean's Ribs?

> "[Learning Enochian](https://archiveofourown.org/series/968991)" series (2 pieces, >3k words total) by Emi_theSassiestSousa

How about a cool little fic written  _in Enochian?_

> "[OECRIMI BVTMONI IARRI CALZ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511946)" by Firebog (The Shameless Smut series it's a part of is pretty fantastic too.)

Just gotta get out of a Destiel place for a little while?

> "[Big Lie, Small World](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16194575/chapters/37845806)" by firefly124, a Charlie/Lisa casefic that is just excellent.

Or perhaps you're not finished having your heart utterly destroyed?

> "[Shadowbox Butterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13844805/chapters/31841967)" by Threshie (Rape/Non-Con Warning) 

 

I'm pretty sure one can look at other's bookmarks, so I can safely say I recommend anything you find in my Bookmarks, too. :) Happy reading!

 

\------

 

A picture of Caprock Canyon State Park after snowfall:

 

 

\------

 

And a Cas & Bris crack comic, courtesy of UnfortunatelyObsessed: 

 


End file.
